


Zootopia 2, The Fire Triangle -- Part 1

by Merc_Marten



Category: Anthropomorfic, Disney - All Media Types, Furry (Fandom), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Arson, Bigotry & Prejudice, Conspiracy, Corruption, Courtroom Drama, Cyber-attack, Evil Corporations, Fanfiction, Friendship/Love, Gang War, Gen, Interspecies Relationship(s), Mystery, Organized Crime, Past Relationship(s), Performance Enhancers, Relationship(s), Sequel, Suspense, Zootopia (City), loanshark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-14 02:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 45,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11773575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merc_Marten/pseuds/Merc_Marten
Summary: Two years have passed since Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps put an end to the Savage Predator conspiracy.  Now the pair have become an effective team and their careers on the fast track to the detective bureau…until a reckless, impulsive act by the fox promises to derail everything.And then…In a Sahara Square alleyway, Judy glimpses an impossible horror; on a quiet street in Savanna Central, a storefront goes up in flames, threatening to touch off a gang war that will rip the city apart.  And in a downtown courtroom, Nick bears witness to a shocking miscarriage of justice.  Three separate incidents…or are they?  And what do they portend for the City of Zootopia?





	1. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

  **Zootopia II – The Fire Triangle**

* * *

**Main Theme:**

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QOiaPjOAgOI>

* * *

**Part One: Fuel**  

**"Came but for friendship, and took away love.”**

**Thomas Moore**

**"Friendship may, and often does grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.”**

**Lord Byron.**

* * *

  **Chapter 1**

Three Years Later—Sahara Square, Third Week of June, Thursday

 

If you’re looking for fast paced excitement…stay the heck away from Sahara Square; everything moves slowly in Zootopia’s desert community.

There is a motto known to every mammal inhabiting the district. “Always the desert sets the pace.”  Except when necessary (or when exercising) you do not waste energy and fluid through fast exertion…at least not during daylight hours.  Every desert species knows this, ‘knows it without knowing it’…they could never survive in such a harsh environment otherwise.

Largely for that same reason, the scenery changes slowly here, (and because erosion is a maddeningly slow process in arid regions.)  The landmark you saw three years ago is likely to be exactly the same today.

Inside the Cactus Grove metro station for example, almost nothing has been altered since the day Conor Lewis changed trains here. Oh, the ZTA Metro map may have been updated a couple of times, and the signs are all relatively new but that’s pretty much the end of it.   In fact, the only significant difference is that the lion and sheep, whose campaign posters once adorned the back wall, are now both behind bars, (although one of them has a parole hearing coming up shortly.)

The same is true of the establishment just across the street from the metro station; to look at the place, all of three seconds could have passed since the young silver-fox came this way.

It certainly appears as nothing special, a plain alabaster front with arched windows and keyhole doors, (with several smaller entrances set into the larger one, the better to accommodate species of different sizes.). Above this entrance, the name Rafaj Brothers’ Fine Jewelers, is painted in simple, blue, scimitar script.

The exterior notwithstanding, the shop is anything but your standard run-of-the-mill jewelers.  Those who know, know Rafaj Brothers’ is only  _the_ most exclusive jewelry store in the city of Zootopia, an establishment whose most effective advertisement—indeed whose ONLY advertisement is, “Wow, where did you GET that?”

With such a reputation, who needs a grand façade?

The answer of course, is ‘you don’t’, but on the other paw, for an establishment such as this a grand INTERIOR is  _de rigueur._

In that regard, Rafaj Jewelers does not disappoint, the inside of the store is opulent nearly to the point of decadence; walls tiled in intricate patterns, delicately woven carpets on the floors, and brightly polished brass everywhere, from the antique chime above the door, to the blade tips of the slowly turning ceiling fans.  There are potted plants in brass urns, brass trim on the display cabinets, and even a charmingly retro solid-brass cash register, (whose innards are actually state-of-the-art digital.)

That is the paradox of Rafaj Brothers Jewelers.  The ambience may be vintage, but the machinery behind it is all cutting-edge… in particular the security system.  (No surprise in such a high-end business.)

Standing behind the counter near the cash register, one of the two proprietors Ahmed al-Rafaj thumbs in a code on a computer tablet and waits for a second.

The elder of the Rafaj brothers, (though only by two years,) Ahmed is a golden jackal, a canid very similar in appearance to the coyote.  Indeed, he has more than once been mistaken for a ‘yote’.

He’s dressed as usual in an elegantly cut sharkskin jacket and a dark tie, with a dark red fez perched atop his head.

Ahmed presses ‘enter’ and beneath the counter, an led-light sidesteps from red to green and a message in red flashes on the tablet ‘disarmed’.  Ahmed enters new instructions, and a sextet of security cam images appears on the screen.

He turns and calls over his shoulder in Arabic.

_“Are you seeing the cameras, Ismael?”_

_“All visible here,”_  says the voice of his younger brother from somewhere beyond a beaded curtain leading to the rear of the store.

“Very well,” Ahmed responds. “I am testing the emergency shutters.  Make certain the rear door is clear.  (A year ago, one of their employees was injured after failing to get out of the way during a shutter test.)

The jackal enters another code on his tablet and then reaches beneath the counter, finding another switch.  He flips it upward, and then moves his paw to hover atop a bright red ‘panic’ button, focusinng his attention on a hippopotamus in grey serge standing beside the shop entrance.

“On the count of three, Rashid,” He says.

“Yes, sir,” The hippo nods and takes a lazy step backwards. 

To the average customer, the jackals’ choice of a hippopotamus as their security guard may seem an odd one.  

Ahmed however knows better.  First of all, hippos are not exclusive to the rivers of southern and tropical Afurica.  In fact, they’re most commonly found along the Nile.

Second, you can forget about that jolly, rotund appearance, just forget about it.  Hippopotami are actually one of the toughest, most aggressive of all Afurican species.  Their thick hide is like built-in body armor and a hippo’s razor-sharp tusks can beat rhino’s horn five sides from Sunday.   On top that, they can move at incredible speed for their size and shape.

Hippos are also highly territorial—a definite plus in a security guard, and after five years with the Rafaj brothers, Rashid has long since come to regard their jewelry store as HIS turf.

And even for his species he’s a brute, at least half a head taller than the average hippo and built like a concrete pillbox.

Behind the counter, Ahmed begins to count off.  “One…two…three!” and slaps the panic button.

With the doomsday finality of guillotine blades, steel shutters slams down over the door and windows, plunging the shop into momentary twilight.

Ahmed gives it a few seconds and then enters more code and hits the button a second time.   The shutters all rise up again…but much more slowly than they had dropped.

‘Very well Rashid,” The jackal says, “You may open for business now.’

“Yes, sir,” The hippo responds; the two words seem to be the extent of his vocabulary.

He turns to unlock the front door just as Ismael calls out again.

_“When you are done with that Rashid, I need you here for a moment.”_

“Yes sir,” the hippo repeats a third time and then lumbers past Ahmed and through the beaded curtain.  The jackal watches him go and at that instant, the front door chimes.

Ahmed immediately puts on his trademark ingratiating smile, big and broad, but with no fangs showing; a smile that says, ‘I am only here to serve.’

When he turns around, the smile is still on his face…but now it appears to have been carved from a block of hardwood and applied to his muzzle with super-glue.

Two animals have just entered the jewelry shop, a fox and a rabbit.

That by itself isn’t enough to set the golden jackal’s teeth on edge.

What does that trick is,  _they’re holding paws!_

Ahmed Rachmann Ali al-Rafaj is not opposed in principle to interspecies relationships; (Couldn’t last long in this business if he was.)  But there are limits.  Had the pair entering Rafaj Brothers Fine Jewelers been, say a fox and an _ocelot_  or a bunny and a  _woodchuck_ , he would have had only a slight difficulty with it.

But a fox and a bunny; a _predator_ and a  _prey_  species?

Outrageous!

Ahmed lets none of his feelings show of course; this is hardly the first time this sort of thing has happened in his shop.

And he also knows the correct procedure in such instances; there are two types of customers that come into Rafaj Brothers Fine Jewelry, browsers and buyers.

If these two are browsers he will allow them to peruse the merchandise, then politely find an excuse to usher them outside.  If they persist in their browsing, then he will IN-sist that they leave, and if all else fails, he will summon Rashid.  (So far, that has only once been necessary.)

On the other paw, if they are buyers, it changes everything.  In that case, the golden jackal will treat them with the same deference he gives to all of his paying customers.

It is a long-standing creed between the two brothers; never show the door to ANYONE ready and willing to pay.  As their late father liked to say, “Money has no smell.” 

And so he clasps his paws and nods, ever so slightly towards the couple.

“Ah, good morning sir…ma’am.  How may I serve you this fine morning?”

“Oh good morning to you,” Nick Wilde answers, his voice bright and beaming.   He’s dressed more elegantly than usual this morning, (not exactly to the nines, more like the sevens,) Docker slacks and a dark blue polo shirt in place of his usual Hawaiian print.  Beside him Judy Hopps is wearing designer jeans and a loose knit blouse.

 He pulls Judy close and she lays her cheek on his arm.

“We want to buy an engagement ring.” He says.

Ahmed’s smile broadens by two inches…in order to conceal the fact that his teeth are clamped like a vice.  It could have been a tennis bracelet, it could have been a necklace, it could have been a pendant, a brooch, or perhaps a pair of earrings.

But noooo, it’s a ring…an  _engagement_ ring.  These two aren’t merely a couple; they intend to become a MARRIED couple.  He should tell them to go elsewhere and right  _now._

Except…the fox said, ‘buy’, not, ‘look at’, ‘see’, or, ‘can you show us?’  _’buy!’_

No one comes through the door with  _that_  word on their lips unless they have every intention of leaving with a purchase.

And so he says, “Ah, congratulations…Now, if you will step this way, we have many fine stones in small mammal sizes.”

He guides them to a leaded-glass display case three spaces down from the cash register.  Before opening it, he says to Nick.

“One moment please, sir.  In deference to your species, allow me to adjust the light.”

With that, he pulls out a small remote control.  On it are three buttons, each marked with a different word

  * Diurnal
  * Nocturnal
  * Crepuscular



Ahmed presses the third button.  A row of translucent, gauze-like shades descend halfway down the windows, dimming the light inside the store.  At the same time the ambient lighting shifts, becoming slightly tinged with orange.

Foxes and rabbits don’t have much in common, but one thing they  _do_  share is that they’re both crepuscular species, meaning that they’re most active in the period between sunset and darkness, and in the interval between first light and sunrise.  (What Nick’s distant, lupine cousins refer to as the ‘Wolflight’)

“There we are.” The jackal says.

“Very nice.” Judy says, looking up at Nick who nods agreement

“All part of our service,” Ahmed answers, beaming, “And now, please allow me to show a selection of our engagement rings.”

He unlocks the display case, removing a tray of diamond rings on black velvet, all of them nestled in neat rows, like a new crop of carrots.

“Do you see any that strike your fancy, sir?” Ahmed asks, looking up at Nick.

The red fox points to a ring in the middle row.

“Can we see that one?”

“Certainly, sir.” The golden jackal answers, plucking the ring from the tray with a white-gloved paw.  He offers the ring to Nick and Judy, ““You may, of course, choose another setting if you wish…or if you would prefer something truly unique, we can design a custom setting, just for you.”

“I-I-I think let’s pick out a diamond first,” Judy says, down-to-earth practical as always.

“Agreed,” says Nick, nodding.  But then, instead of taking the ring, he puts on a glove of his own and produces a jeweler’s loupe from a side pocket.

Ahmed’s muzzle spreads open in a big, wide smile.

“Ahhhh, I like a knowledgeable customer,” he says, and for the first time since Nick and Judy entered the shop, the jackal is being entirely sincere.

Nick pegs the loupe to his eye and examines the diamond closely.

“Oh, this is lovely,” he says, passing the ring and the loupe to Judy, “What do you think, hon?”

Judy studies the stone…and her expression becomes dubious.

“Ohhh, it’s a pretty diamond, Nick.” She says handing the ring back to him with a twitching nose. “But it just doesn’t…I want something that, errr… jumps out at me, do you know what I mean?”

“I understand,” Nick says returning the stone to Ahmed, who returns it to the tray, not at all disappointed.  Truth be told, this is par for the course; no one EVER buys the first diamond they look at…or hardly ever, and in fact, if Judy had told Nick ‘this is it’  the jackal would have recommended they look at a few more stones before making up their minds.

(Or, he might if they were not a predator/prey couple.)

“Why don’t you pick out the next one, hon?”  Nick is saying.

“How about, that stone there?” Judy points.

This time the situation is reversed; Judy adores the diamond, but Nick doesn’t like it all that much.

“But if it’s the one you really want…” he says, and she quickly waves a paw.

“No Nick, we agreed…a diamond we BOTH like, remember?”

Nick remembers and returns the ring to Ahmed.

“Perhaps you could recommend something?” he asks.

“Certainly sir.” The jackal says, nodding pleasantly.

Three trays later, his congenial air is once again forced, and it’s all he can do to hide his frustration.   Well, Ahmed supposes, he shouldn’t be surprised—a fox and a rabbit after all—but  _Bismillah,_  can these two not agree on  _anything?_   Every diamond he favors, she rejects; every stone that she likes, he does not.

Or  _neither one_  of them like what they’ve been shown; he should have bowed them out when he had the chance.

But then he notices Nick is leaning over the counter and beckoning with a crooked finger.  Curious, he moves closer.

 “Ahmed…can I call you Ahmed?” he says, and then looks around as if to ensure that no one else is within earshot.  (A ludicrous gesture, the store is empty except for the three of them.) 

Nick lowers voice and cups a paw to his muzzle.  “Can I ask you something, one maligned species to another?”

Ahmed blinks, and then his eyes narrow and he also leans in close. 

He knows exactly what Nick Wilde is talking about.  Just as conventional wisdom brands all foxes as shifty and untrustworthy, so too it decries all jackals as thieving and cowardly.  Oh yes, Ahmed understands Nick’s meaning…Rabbit fiancée or no, he shares a kindred spirit with this fox.

“You may ask.” The jackal answers in a low murmur.

Nick looks around again for a second then back at Ahmed

You wouldn’t happen to have any… _lavender_  diamonds, would you?”

Ahmed blinks once more…but before he can react any further Judy Hopps raises her voice.

“Nick…NO!   You can’t afford a lavender diamond.  No, please…that’s too much money.”

Ahmed relaxes but only slightly.  He was surprised by Nick’s inquiry, but not put off by it.   However now his best option—his only option, really—is to step back and stay out of the argument. 

And keep his fingers crossed

“It’s too much money.” Judy says again, spreading her paws at 4 and 6 O’clock.

But the red fox will not be dissuaded.  “Aw c’mon, hon…I just want to see if they  _have_  any; it doesn’t cost anything to look.”  He glances at Ahmed, arching an eyebrow, “Uh, that is, if….?”

“I-I-I believe we might have one or two lavender stones in the back.” the jackal says, nodding towards the beaded curtain before adding a caveat, “However, I must caution you sir, the lady is quite right, lavender diamonds are most dear.”

“We’d still like to see one.”  Nick telsl him.

Reluctantly, Judy agrees. “Oh-kay, I guess.”

“I will not be a moment.” Ahmed says, and then calls through the curtain, “Rashid?  Would you come watch the front, please?”

As if expecting the call, the giant hippo lumbers instantly through the curtain and takes up a position near the front door.  Ahmed gives him short nod and then disappears through the beaded curtain and into the back of the store. 

* * *

The front and rear sections of Rafaj Brothers Fine Jewelers have about as much in common as a symphony orchestra and a jug band. There's a state of the art LED lighting system in the back, together with a top-drawer air cooling and filtration system, but that's it.  All the chairs and other furnishings resemble leftovers from a low-budget remake of Catsablanca…while the employees all resemble  _extras_  from the film; khaftans, robes and skullcaps abound and the air is tinged with the faint aroma of incense.  When one of the other larger species moves about, the hastily varnished floorboards creak in protest.   It doesn’t matter; customers never see this part of the store anyway; here is where the stones are sorted and the settings created. 

On one side of the room are the worktables reserved for larger mammals.  On the opposite side, are two tiers of work spaces, the lower level reserved for small-to-midsize mammal species, and the upper level set aside for rodents.  To avoid trampling, a low partition separates the two areas.

It’s a casual atmosphere to say the least; everyone is allowed to keep their worktable as they see fit, (provided that it does not interfere with their job.)  This ranges from a table crammed with papers, belonging to a gerbil, to an almost antiseptically sterile work-space at the far end of the room… the private domain of Ahmed’s younger brother, Ismael. 

While physically the pair of jackals could almost be twins, in mode of dress the only thing they share is the fez each one wears atop his head.   Other than that, while Ahmed’s clothes are western, sharp, and neatly pressed, the kaftan Ismael wears looks slept in and seldom washed.  And it doesn’t help that the embroidered vest he has on is the one he’s been wearing every day for the past twenty years.  It’s almost as if the younger jackal keeps his worktable spotless in order to compensate for his own, slovenly appearance.

At the moments he is scrutinizing a diamond, held with a pair of tweezers beneath magnifying ring-light.

Ahmed studies his brother for a moment, considering the best way to put it to him.  There’s another reason why Ismael al-Rafaj is almost never seen out front.   Not to put too fine a point on it, he’s about as tactful as a sandstorm.  More than once Ahmed has had to talk one of their employees out of quitting because of him…and he hasn’t always been successful.

He clears his throat and steps forward.

“A private moment if you please, brother?”

Ismael pushes the ring light aside and gets up.   A moment later the two of them are seated on cushions in Ahmed’s private office, sipping coffee from Turkish cups

“What is it then, Ahmed?” his brother inquires impatiently, setting his cup aside.  The jackal lets it pass, Ismael is always impatient.

He sets down his own cup and leans forward slightly.

“We have a small mammal couple out front who wish to purchase…  _purchase_  an engagement ring…a  _lavender diamond_  engagement ring.”  It isn’t quite true of course, but if he’s going to get the proposal past Ismael, then that’s how he’d BETTER phrase it.

“Truly?” The other jackal also leans forward, his tawny face alight in a rare display of excitement.  He claps his paws together then lifts them towards the ceiling.  “Heaven be praised!  Perhaps we shall finally rid ourselves of the last of the…”

He stops suddenly, peering closely at Ahmed with one eye wider than the other.

“All right brother, I see it in your face…and you would not normally be consulting with me over such a matter.  What is it, then?”

Ahmed sighs, and drops the other shoe.

“They are a fox…and a rabbit.”

Ismael’s ears turn sideways and his lip curls upward, revealing a fang.

“What…TOGETHER!” he snarls, coming halfway off his cushion.   He holds like that for a second, and then sits back down again.

For a long moment, he says nothing…and when he finally speaks he seems to be picking his words as though THEY are diamonds.

“It is just fortunate…that it IS a lavender diamond they want, brother.  Else, I should insist you have this…this  _fox and bunny_  sent away at once.”

Ahmed nods gravely, but inside he’s relieved.   It does not matter if Adbul accepts the idea only grudgingly—as long as he accepts it.

And with that out of the way, there is another matter to discuss.

“We need to rid ourselves of this diamond at all costs, Ismael.  I say therefore that we should be prepared so offer it for no more than we paid, perhaps even take a small loss, as long as it is gone.”

This time, his brother has no argument.

“I agree.” He says, “We made more than enough off the rest of that shipment to afford it.”

He leaves the next words hanging and Ahmed hangs his head in momentary shame.  Yes, they did…except for ONE stone that’s been haunting them ever since.

Taking advantage of his brother’s chagrin, Ismael lifts an ear and an eyebrow.  “But you will, of course, not offer that as your FIRST price?”

Mildly offended, Ahmed’s muzzle pinches up.  He’s not  _that_ mortified.

“Certainly not brother; you of all jackals should know me better than that.” He taps a firm finger on the coffee table between them.  “Nonetheless, we must rid ourselves of this accursed stone.”

“Yes,” his brother agrees once more, “before the Red Pig learns of what we have been doing.”

This time Ahmed doesn’t just tap the table, he slaps it with his pawlm.  The pair of coffee-cups topple over and one of them goes rolling off the edge and onto the carpet.  (Luckily both are empty.)

“The Red Pig?  That is the least of our worries.”  He looks away, rapping knuckles against his temples,  _“Bismillah_ , how could I have been such a fool?”

Surprisingly, Ismael attempts to come to his rescue.

“You had no way of knowing who he was, brother.”

Ahmed slaps the table, harder this time. 

“I knew he was a shrew…and that he wanted an _engagement_  ring.  I should have added that together!”

A voice calls from outside the door, “Is everything all right in there, Bey?”

“We are fine, go back to your work.” Ismael answers through the door in a harsh voice.

“Yes, Bey.” The voice replies gingerly, “But Rashid asks me to inform you that your customers out front are becoming restless.”

“Very well, thank you.” Ahmed calls, jumping in quickly before his brother can say any more. 

Ismael gets up quickly up from his cushion.

“You had best go and soothe them while I fetch the diamond.  I will see you out front with it shortly.”

Ahmed also rises, waving a cautious paw.

“I-I-I think it best if…”

Ismael immediately cuts him off.

“You should have an extra pair of eyes on that fox, brother.”

That sends  _Ahmed’s_  ears shooting sideways and causes his neck fur to spike.

“Yes, he’s a fox…and are we not  _jackals?_   Do we not also suffer the scorn of…”

“I don’t care if he’s a member of our  _own_ species!” Ismael interrupts, irritated, “But suppose he IS here to steal the diamond?  To w _hom_ should we report it, then?”

Ahmed sighs and wipes his forehead with the back of his paw.   His brother is right and he knows it, but still…

“Very well,” he says, “but this time, please allow ME to do the talking?  I don’t need you causing trouble with our customers again…especially not these two.”

He reaches over and opens the office door.

“What?”  Ismael demands, his muzzle pointing indignantly towards at the ceiling. “Name one, single instance when I have ever done that!” 

Ahmed turns and walks out, ticking off points on his fingers.

“There was the wood-rat who threatened to sue us; there was the bison who nearly pitched me through the display case;”  He stops and looks over a shoulder, “And let us not forget the raccoons who came back and sprayed graffiti all over the windows after you called one of them a trash-pan…”

“I said one SINGLE instance!” Ismael snaps. 

 A moment later, Ahmed is standing with Nick and Judy when Ismael appears, cupping a tiny blue velvet box in paws.  Ahmed can tell right away that this is not going to go well.  His brother seems to be barely restraining himself from pitching a googly at Nick’s head with it.

“Ah, thank you brother,” he says, hurriedly taking the box from his paws…and flashing a discreet grimace that speaks volumes;  _“And pleeeeease, hold your tongue for once!”_

“I fear we only have one lavender diamond remaining sir,” He tells the fox and bunny apologetically, “But it is quite lovely, I assure you…and happily, just the perfect size for the lady’s species.”

He casts a quick, sidelong glance at Ismael, who looks away, mouthing something unpleasant.

Ahmed turns back to Nick and Judy…and opens the box.

Nick is the first to react.  His ears fall back and his eyes go wide, then he lets out a long, airy breath while Judy puts a paw to her mouth.

There, nestled in dark satin is a sparling diamond of incredible luster,  the color of a violet sunrise.  Nick says nothing but just looks at Ahmed, who nods slightly and whispers ‘You may.”

Carefully, delicately Nick takes the little box and affixes his jeweler’s loupe.  The second his eye takes focus of the diamond, his tail commences to swish in an S-wave.

“This is it.” He announces breathlessly, taking the loupe from his eye.  He cups a paw above the stone as if to offer it benediction. “This is our diamond.”

Judy cries out at once.  “No Nick…no!  Darn you I just _said_  it’s too much money.”

“Maybe for a Christmas present, sweetheart,” Nick tells her softly, clasping her paw, “And for a birthday present, certainly.”  He gives her the stone and the loupe, “But not for a lifetime…and how can it be any other stone?  Look Judy…look how it goes with your eyes.”

Reluctantly, very reluctantly…Judy takes the diamond and puts the loupe in her eye.   When she takes it out again, two things are obvious:  The first is that the lavender of the diamond is a perfect complement for the girl bunny’s lovely, violet eyes.

The second is that she’s fighting back tears of joy mixed with frustration.  She compresses her lips for second, and then nods tightly at Nick.

“Okay,” she tells him in a little, choked voice.

“Okay,” he answers, taking back the diamond with an adoring smile.

They embrace in a mile-deep hug.   That brings Ismael flying in their direction.  He stops only when he sees Ahmed baring his teeth.

When Nick and Judy let go of each other, the red fox comes swiftly back down to ground level.

“Uhhhm, could we possibly discuss some, errr…financing?”

“I am sure we can arrange something.” The golden jackal beams.

A short while later, Ismael emerges from the back once more with a velvet box cupped in his paws like an offering, this one in burgundy red.  He’s so happy to finally have sold the last of the lavender diamonds he’s actually willing to let species be species.

“Here you are sir,” he says, presenting the box to Nick with a little bow.

The fox opens it, and both he and Judy gasp.  There’s the diamond, nestled in an elegant setting of two intertwined comets.   They gaze at the diamond for just a second, And then Nick says, “Ready to try it on, Carrots?”

Judy holds out her paw, fingers extended…while Ahmed’s ears extend upwards and point at each other.  ‘Carrots?’  That’s a common enough way to address a rabbit, but certainly not a term of endearment.  

And right before putting  _an engagement ring_  on her finger?

Ahmed’s dark eyes go narrow and hard, the words of his brother returning swiftly and silently.   _“To_  whom  _should we report it, then?_

He looks quickly over at Ismael, whom he notices is wearing the same expression.  A discreet nod passes between the two brothers, and then Ismael signals quietly to Rashid, who nods and moves to block the front door.  At the same time, Ahmed reaches behind the counter to activate the emergency shutters, his other paw poised over the ‘panic button.’

Nick and Judy see none of this; they’re too wrapped up in each other.

He slips the ring onto Judy’s finger.  She blinks back tears once more.

“Oh Nick,” she almost whimpers, rocking her paw from side to side, “Look at it…it’s a perfect fit.”

“A perfect it for a perfect lady,” he tells her softly.

Nick brushes Judy’s cheek with the back of his fingers, and then takes her in his arms and kisses her.  She closes her eyes and kisses him back…lost in the magic of the moment.

But then Ismael’s cry of outrage breaks the spell.

“Do not do this in our shop, please!  Rabbit…FOX!”

He looks towards his brother…and for once, the pair of the golden jackals are in complete accord with one another.  Standing by the door, Rashid looks equally dismayed. 

It takes Ahmed all of half a second to come storming out from behind the counter, ears turned sideways and fur spiking, the use of ‘Carrots’ completely forgotten.

“Such an  _inappropriate_  display of affection!”  he rages. “A predator and prey species.”

“And right in front of us!” his brother Ismael growls, (a muted reaction, coming for him.)  He looks around, then back Nick and Judy, aiming an accusing finger. “You are just fortunate there is no one else in the store to see you.”

“And now you may leave our shop,” Ahmed informs them coldly, “You have your diamond, take it and go!”  He motions to Rashid, who steps aside to let them pass.

Nick takes a step in the jackals’ direction, “Now, just a minute…!”

But Judy swiftly grabs his arm.

“No Nick, no…it’s not worth it.”

He stops, but continues to glare at Ismael.

“It’s not worth it.” Judy repeats, trying to pull him back, “And it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.  Please?”

Nick ignores her for a second, but then sags in defeat, letting out long breath of air.

“Yeah…right as always, Carrots.   Let’s just go.”

He puts his arm around her and she lays her head on his side.  Then the two of them stroll towards the shop entrance, all dignity.

As Nick opens the door, Ahmed fires off a parting shot.

“And be sure you make you payments promptly, _fox!”_  he sneers.

“And in FULL!” his brother snarls.

It’s Judy who answers, turning to look back at the brothers for a second. “Yeah guys, don’t worry.  You’ll both get whatever’s coming to you.”

Before they can respond to this, she and Nick are out the door.

The two of them hold each other tightly as they walk away from the entrance, drawing unhappy glances from several passersby and derisive giggles from two young goats.  They ignore it all, holding each other ever more closely with every step they take.

At the next corner they turn down a side street…finally no more gawkers.

The minute they’re alone, Judy furiously pushes Nick off of her.

“You KISSED me!  What did you have to _kiss_  me for?”

 

 


	2. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry folks, there's no way to summarize this chapter without it being a spoiler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Change in posting schedule.
> 
> From now on, this story will now be updated twice per week, on Tuesdays and Fridays.

**Chapter 2**

"You KISSED me! What did you have to _kiss_  me for?"

Judy stares up at the fox with her ears and arms pulled back, face jutting forward with a mixture of surprise and disbelief.

Nick Wilde can only spread his arms in a helpless gesture.

"I had to make it look real, Carrots."

Judy looks as if  _she's_  about ready to come straight out of her fur.

"Real? REAL! What the heck did you eat for breakfast this mor…? Couldn't you have at least brushed your teeth…?"

She spots a bubbler drinking fountain and rushes over, hopping up and grabbing the edge. She plunges her face into the basin, blubbering and gurgling and swishing back and forth, splashing water over the rim.

A few seconds later she comes up for air, spitting sour words and water.

"Ick…Yuck! Carnivore breath!  _Bluhhhh!"_

She shoves her face back into the bowl. When she finally finishes, Nick offers her a pawkerchief. She snatches it out his grip as if taking back a stolen item and begins to angrily dry herself, refusing to even look at him.

Luckily for Nick, by the time her face is dry, her anger has also dissipated.

"Thanks, fox." She says, giving it back to him with a wan expression.

"Welcome," Nick says, offering a skittish smile. ( Judy is continuing to roll her cheeks; she hasn't rid her mouth of  _all_  the bad taste, not yet.) "No hard feelings?" he asks, mentally crossing his fingers.

Judy offers him a paw, he takes it.

"No hard feelings, partner…and otherwise you were great in there."

"But…?" Nick raises an ear and an eyebrow; he should know  _that_  look by now.

Judy lowers her head and shakes it, "But darn it Nick, what were you  _thinking?_  Of all the times to….right in front of…?"

"Uhhh, 'scuse me, folks?"

Both of them turn to see a scruffy, red wolf dressed in torn jeans, a worn and faded tank-top, pushing a shopping cart stuffed with various items of no practical use.

He stops and flexes his fingers on the push-bar for a second, but instead of making the standard plea for spare change, he angles his head in the direction of a produce-truck parked in a nearby alley.

The movement reveals a coil of wire plugged into his left ear..

Judy and Nick regard each other for a second and then bolt for the produce truck. While the bunny keeps watch with her ears raised, the fox raps on the door three times, pauses, and then raps again twice.

The door rolls upwards and the two of them duck inside.

There's no such thing as produce in this truck; it's a regular rolling cop-shop in here; at least eight officers, probably more.

On the left side of the cargo box, Officer Dan Higgins (a hippo) and Officer Claire Swinton (a pig) study a bank of flat-panel monitors, all of them displaying surveillance-cam images of Rafaj Brothers Jewelers, four from the outside and two on the inside; each one covering a different angle. On the wall opposite the monitors, a row of tac-vests sways slightly as the door rolls shut. At the far end of the trailer, barely visible through the packed bodies, is a set-up that resembles a doll-house-sized version of the Cliffside Med Lab, the place where Judy finally caught up with the missing Emmitt Otterton.

Nearly all of the officers are in uniform—with two notable exceptions; the elephant, Francine Trunkaby, and Chief Bogo, the officer in charge. He's dressed in khakis and a batik shirt, while she's done up in a brightly colored print-dress.

The other cops' reaction to Nick and Judy's arrival is decidedly mixed. Some of them snicker, a few shake their heads, and Francine Trunkaby gives the fox and bunny a look that could kill crabgrass. Though their responses may differ from mammal to mammal, they all have one thing in common.

None of them are positive.

Luckily—or perhaps not—the fox and bunny take no notice of this, they have other concerns at the moment, specifically Chief Bogo, who steps forward with his arms folded like a sumo wrestler.

"You've got it." He rumbles in his familiar basso-profundo. It's a statement, not a question.

"We got it," Nick tells him smiling. Judy punctuates the statement by holding up her ring-finger.

The Cape buffalo nods and turns, beckoning for the two of them to follow.

They trail him to the far end of the cargo bay where a rust-furred coati in a lab-coat and half-moon glasses sits perched before a lab-table. Surrounded by an array of esoteric equipment, she nurses a Snarlbuck's latte.

"So you pulled it off?" she says, setting down her coffee. If anything, her outlook on life is even gloomier than the Chief's.

Without waiting for an answer, she holds out a paw in Judy's direction. "Let's have it."

Judy reaches to remove her diamond engagement ring. For just a hint of a second, she hesitates, a wistful expression brushing across her features.

Then she shakes it off and passes the ring to the tech-mammal.

The Coatimundi—professional name, Dr. Irene Hocico—takes the diamond and gives it a quick examination under a ring-light magnifier.

"Well?" says the Chief, looking over her shoulder

"Don't crowd me." Dr. Hocico says, waving him back, and then turns her attention to the ring once more. "Well, we're on the right track here, however…"

She reaches over to grab up a small, metal pedestal-stand and attaches the ring to a clip on the end, diamond side up. Next, she opens the door of a cabinet that looks like a scaled down, armored microwave oven and slides the ring inside.

"Medium rare for me," says Nick, prompting Judy to nudge him in the ribs.

"Oh, hush."

The coati closes the door and flicks a switch. A thrum and hissing sound is heard as the air is evacuated from the chamber.

Satisfied with this, Dr. Hocico picks up a joystick and presses the top button. A green dot appears on one wall of the chamber. She toggles the joystick with a paw while keeping one eye on a display screen, carefully aligning a set of animated crosshairs over the captive diamond.

It's too much for a certain fox to resist. He affects an exaggerated, drill-sergeant growl.

"Put it together, soldier. You'll  _never_  win the Medal of Heroes THAT way."

Dr. Hocico looks over a shoulder at Judy.

"Is he always like this?"

Judy's eyes lift up and make a sharp right turn.

"You should hear him when he's rolling."  (Nick can see that she's trying not to laugh)

As if to remind everybody who's in charge, Chief Bogo clears his throat.

"Will this take long?" he asks Dr. Hocico.

"Seriously?" the coati says, arching an eyebrow, and then, "All right, don't anybody look at the door."

She pulls the joystick trigger. There's a bright flash of emerald light, and then a tiny wisp of smoke is seen curling off the top of the stone.

"Shame to do that to a perfectly good diamond," says Nick, and this time he's not joking.

"Not so 'perfectly good' when you consider where it came from, Wilde." The chief caps his remark with a derisive snort.

"Wellll, we don't know that for certain," Dr. Hocico reminds him. "It still might be a manufactured stone."

She reaches for a keyboard and begins to type.

The cross hairs vanish from the display screen, replaced by a marching display that resembles a rainbow pattern seismograph. The scroll continues for several more seconds and then freezes in place, with the final results superimposed over the graph.

The data on the screen might as well be hieroglyphics as far as Nick, Judy, and the Chief are concerned. But the final, flashing number is something anyone can fathom.

**100%...100%...100%...100%...100%...**

The coati swivels around in her chair, offering Bogo a thumbs-up.

"Congratulations Chief, you have a winner."

(She says this in the enthusiastic tone most mammals reserve for, "Can somebody empty the trash?")

But if Dr. Hocico is not particularly pumped, with everyone else in the truck it's a different story. Whoops, howls, and high-fives all greet the coati's announcement; Nick and Judy exchange a fist-bump and even crusty, old Chief Bogo has a smile on his face.

It's still there when he pulls out his cell-phone and dials a number.

"Hello, Chief Bogo for Judge Walpole please. Yes, it's important. Would you…? Ah, good morning, Your Honor. Yes sir…yes, we did." His grin widens by nearly an inch, "Even better than we hoped, 100% Positive. Yes, that's right. Ah yes, thank you Judge." He glances sideways at the silent specter of a portable fax machine, "I appreciate your prompt response. Yes sir, we'll be ready to move as soon as we've got it in hoof. Yes, I'll certainly keep you informed. Thank you again, Your Honor. Good-bye."

He puts away the cell and turns to address the group.

"Right, everyone listen up, it's on! We…all right, pipe DOWN!"

All the officers immediately quiet themselves, and Chief Bogo continues.

"We'll have our warrant shortly." He says, nodding towards the fax machine…and prompting another clever aside from Nick.

"Ah, the wonders of modern technology…"

"Quie-ET!" Judy hisses, nudging him again.

But Chief Bogo only nods. Yes it IS a great thing to be able to have a warrant delivered right to the scene of stakeout…and in mere moments.

Then he says, "In the meantime, everyone suit up."

The officers immediately begin pulling their tac-gear from the wall hooks. Bogo watches them for a moment and then begins barking orders like the captain of a ship.

"Simmers? You and Howell cover the back door. Swinton, notify Howell it's a go."

"'Yes, sir," the pig and bear answer together, (Simmers with a notable lack of enthusiasm.) He goes to grab a tac-vest while she hits the radio call button, "Command to Howell, do you copy?"

Meanwhile Bogo continues issuing commands.

"Krumpansky, Delgato, Kobolai, you three cover the perimeter."

"Right Chief." Says a big Marco Polo Sheep…speaking for the lion and rhino as well as for himself.

Bogo barely acknowledges before moving on.

"Fangmeier, Wolford, Grizzoli and Barrow….you four take up positions by the front door and wait for Officer Trunkaby's signal. Francine and I are going in."

His declaration sets off another round of whooping and backpounding…and this time the Cape buffalo lets it happen. It's always good to send the troops in motivated.

But then a small voice pipes up from below.

"Chief? What about us?"

Judy and Nick are gazing upwards at Bogo. His expression is soulful; hers is almost pleading.

"You two stay in the command truck," he says pointing from one to the other.

Judy looks as if he backhoofed her. After all this time, and all she's done for the Department she's  _still…?"_

"But Chief…" she starts to protest and the buffalo cuts her off.

"I don't have time for explanations, Hopps...stay here; that's an order." He unbuttons his shirt for a moment to check the tac-vest underneath, and then fixes her in his trademark thousand-yard stare. "I mean it."

"Yes sir," Judy answers, regarding the floor; she looks like a beach-toy with the air-valve popped.

"Right, the rest of you are on back-up." Bogo says, "I want this take-down to go fast and smooth. In and done in less than five; is everyone clear on that?"

"Yes sir!" they all shout in unison, though Nick and Judy are considerably less enthusiastic than the others, especially Judy.

"Right," says Bogo, "Let's go."

The Chief, the officers and Dr. Hocito all pile out the rear of the command truck, leaving the fox and bunny alone with Officer Swinton.

* * *

 


	3. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old terror resurfaces...with a new angle.

**Chapter 3**

Chief Bogo studies a display case while keeping one eye on the jackal behind the counter.  A scant second afterwards, the front door chimes and Francine Trunkaby follows him inside the jewelry store. 

Unlike Nick and Judy however, they do not so much as even acknowledge each other’s presence.  Instead Francine pretends to browse the earrings while Bogo continues to keep watch on Ahmed al-Rafaj, currently in the midst of assisting a wallaby with the purchase of a pearl necklace.

Outside on the sidewalk, a Bengal leopard approaches the shop’s front door…but wisely turns in the opposite direction upon seeing the cops in tac-gear surrounding it.

At the same time this is happening, the wallaby is hopping merrily towards the front entrance with her purchase.  Chief Bogo graciously holds the door for her, and as she passes him by, he whispers. “Please do not be alarmed, Ma’am.  Just keep on your way, police business.”

The wallaby give him a look of apprehension, but does as the Chief suggests.

With her gone, Bogo and Francine move quickly.  While the he makes a beeline in Ahmed’s direction, she gets discreetly between the golden jackal and the front door, not in order to cut off his escape, but to block his line of sight.  Outside, the other cops take up their positions, ready to move in.

Ahmed al-Rafaj sees none of this, only the approaching Cape Buffalo. 

He immediately puts on his obsequious manner. “Yes sir, how may I assist you?”

The response he gets is the rare spectacle of The Chief in distress.

“Yes,” Bogo starts to say, “I was wondering if you might…”  

All at once he bellows in pain, doubling over in hard grimace.

“Sir, what is wrong?” Ahmed cries out, rushing out from behind the counter…away from the shutter controls and the panic button.

“Are you all right?” he asks, laying a paw on Bogo’s shoulder

“I-I’m fine,” the Chief answers through clamped jaws, and then he abruptly straightens up again, apparently as good as new.

“But you’re not!’ He snorts, pulling out his badge and shoving it in the jackal’s face. “ZPD!”

That’s the signal; Francine blows a note through her trunk and then moves aside for the rest of the team.  At once the other officers come charging through the front, sending the door chime flying off its mount to land somewhere behind a counter with a jangled clatter.

And then Chief Bogo is looming over Ahmed like a thundercloud.

“Ahmed Rachmann Ali al-Rafaj, you’re under arrest…for illegally trafficking in blood diamonds!” He looks to his right, “Wolford, cuff him and read him his rights.  Barrow, Fangmeier…check the back.”

“Right Chief.”

“Yes sir,”

The tigress and the polar bear go plunging through the beaded curtain, while the grey wolf speaks coldly to the hapless golden jackal.

“All right bub, assume the position.”

It all goes like clockwork.  In mere moments, the front of the store is secured with yellow tape while Dr. Hocito attaches tags to certain of the display cases.  “Not much out here worth checking.” She tells the chief, “They’ll keep the bulk of their blood diamonds in the vault.  In fact, I’d be surprised if they have ANY dirty stones out front.  That’d be _really_ brazen.”

The Chief snorts. “Given how long they’ve been at it, I shouldn’t be surprised if they’ve got a few _stolen_ gemstones back there as well.”

“Coming out.” A voice calls from the back, and seconds later a kangaroo rat comes hopping through the beaded curtain, followed by a ground-squirrel.  Behind these two are a mongoose and Ismael Rafaj, the latter looking as if he’s about to suffer a nervous breakdown.  Trailing him is goat with a broken horn, and bringing up the rear are a camel and an Arabian oryx.  All of them have their arms raised.  At the end of the procession is officer Fangmeier, weapon at the ready.

Bogo lets out a small grumble. “Fangmeier, how many times have I got to say it?  _Smaller mammals in the rear, so they won’t be trampled by the larger ones.”_

The tigress lets this pass without comment.  This is just Bogo being Bogo, ever the stickler for protocol.   She waves her weapon at the troop of suspects, speaking in a purring, Sabra accent.

“We caught them trying to lock themselves in the vault.”

That gets Dr. Hocito’s immediate attention.

“Wait, what?  The vault’s _open?”_

(Her tone of mild surprise would rank as full-blown astonishment in anyone else.)

She starts to move towards the beaded curtain, but Bogo quickly throws an arm in her way.

“Hold up Doctor, there’s still a very dangerous hippo on the loose back there somewhere.”

And with that in mind he grabs his radio.

“Bogo to Barrow, acknowledge, please…over.”

The polar bear’s reply comes back immediately.

“Chief, this is Barrow.  Read you five by five, over.”

“Barrow, any sign of that hippopotamus?  Over.”

“Uhhh that’s a negative Chief.  No sign of him anywhere…I say again, no sign…over.”

The Cape buffalo lets out a small, pungent grumble.

“Well, stay sharp back there, Barrow.  An animal that large can’t conceal himself for long.  Bogo out.” 

He disconnects and raises his muzzle.

“Grizzoli, where are you?”

“Right here, chief.” The white wolf answers, hurrying forward.

Bogo pokes a thumb at the beaded curtain.

“Right, get back there and assist Barrow…see if that lupine sense of smell of yours can pick up our missing perp.  You get whiff of anything even _remotely_ like hippopotamus, call immediately for backup.  And if you spot him, tag him with a trank dart first and save the questions for later.  This is one EXTREMELY aggressive individual.”

“I’m on it, Chief.” The white wolf answers and hurries into the back.

Meanwhile, in the alley behind the store, Officer Sam Simmers is…well, simmering.

“I don’t know why SHE’S complaining, rookie.” The brown bear grouses to Officer Tad Howell, the red wolf who was earlier posing as a street-bum. 

“I know, right?” Howell nods his head like a bobble-doll, but privately he wishes Simmers would just shut the heck up.

“At least Hopps is inside the command truck where it’s cool,” the bear grumbles on, “while WE have to sit out here in the heat...in full tactical gear!  And we’re just as far from the action as she is.”

It’s as if he just uttered the words to a forbidden spell.  All at once, the brick wall behind him bursts asunder and Rashid comes crashing into the alleyway…colliding head on with Simmers and burying Howell under a pile of masonry.

Under normal circumstances it would be an even match, but Rashid has momentum and the element of surprise.  He heaves Simmers over his shoulder and into an open dumpster, throwing the door shut and slamming the lock-bar into place.

Then he takes off, hell-bent-for-leather down the alleyway.

At the alleyway exit, Rashid nearly slides off his feet as he surges into the side street.  He stops…breathless, looks around frantically.  Which way to go?  To the left?   To the right?  _Bismillah,_ where are the other police officers?  He needs a place to hide, but where…?   Wait, over there, in that other alley…a produce truck!

Inside that ‘produce truck’ Nick Wilde is highly aggravated…not with Chief Bogo, with Judy Hopps.

“Dangit Carrots, will you quit that _thumping?”_

It’s bad enough when she does this back at the precinct.  Here, inside a soundproofed trailer, the noise seems to amplify itself by a factor of five.

Judy’s foot slows down but doesn’t stop.

“Patience Officer Hopps,” says Claire Swinton, turning for a second from the monitor console, “They also serve who only stand and wait.”

The Bunny-cop’s foot makes final, hard slap against the floor.

“Swinton, were you transferred from the Department of Corrections to bug me?”

“No Hopps, to bug THAT.” The sow points at an image of the jewelry store, showing on one of the flat panels.

Nick sniggers and Judy groans.

“When I signed on for this sting I never thought I’d end up playing straight bunny to a…

Her words are cut off as the back door flies open…and then the officers and the hippo Rashid are staring at each other, too dumbstruck to move.

Then Judy _does_ move.  She grabs a tranquilizer gun off a hanging tac-vest and drops to the floor in a prone position, taking aim at the hippopotamus.

“Stop right there!”

But Rashid is also moving—hauling the roll-up door closed once again. 

Judy pulls the trigger and fires, but the dart only embeds itself in the door paneling.

Rashid throws the door latch and jams it shut with a piece of rebar.  He has to move and move fast.  Even before he slammed the door, the pig at the console was calling for backup …and it won’t take long for them to get here.

Marbles of sweat are rolling down his face as the hippo turns and rushes out of the alley.  Where can he go now?  Wait, look… another alley.

He runs for it, full-tilt…unaware that in his blind panic, he’s just made a _disastrous_ mistake.

Inside the command truck, Judy struggles with the door but it refuses to budge.  She throws an icy look at Nick, who just stands there, watching.  She tugs on the handle again…nothing.

And then she gives up…or does she? 

“Oh no, you don’t!”

Judy hops over to the center of the cargo box, reaches down to the diamond-plate floor, and pulls a lever, throwing open a hidden escape-hatch.  In practically the same motion, she swipes her tac-vest off a wall-hook.

“You coming?” she says, looking at Nick.

The fox makes pressing motions with his paws.

“We were told to stay here, Car…”

But Judy is already through the bolt-hole.

Barreling around the corner, Rashid comes face-to-face with his error.   This is the alleyway behind Rafaj Brothers Jewelers; he retraced his course without realizing it.

Or… _was_ it such a mistake?  The way ahead is all clear; the bear is still trapped inside the dumpster, and while the wolf has managed to clear away most of the bricks that were covering him, his tail is still pinned beneath a section of wall.

And his radio has fallen out of his reach….and is laying in five easy pieces.

AND the alley beyond the wolf is completely deserted; without meaning to, Rashid made the proper move.  Doubling back was the last thing the ZPD expected of him.

Seeing the hippo approaching, Officer Howell frantically tries to extract his tail from the slab of rubble holding it in place; it’s no good, he’s caught like a mosquito on flypaper.

A smirk pans across Rashid’s features and look—right there beside that refuse barrel, a length of iron pipe.  How fortuitous. 

He grabs the pipe, and begins lumbering towards the hapless wolf.  This isn’t necessary, in fact it’s waste of precious time…but the big hippo is frustrated and angry and for the moment that’s all he cares about.

Howell realizes at once what’s happening, but instead of struggling, or pleading, or even raising an arm to shield himself, he reaches with a paw and slaps at his shoulder, just below the left collarbone.

And then he begins to recite as if from a book.

“Epsilon Override…”

The oncoming hippo is ten feet away from using the wolf for a piñata.

“…Alpha, Golf, Sierra...”

Only five feet away…

“…Six, Three, Seven, Bravo…”

Three feet away….

“Initiate!”

Less than one foot…

Howell lowers his head and begins to shake it from side to side.  

Rashid is right on top of him, raising the pipe in a high arc.

And then it clangs to the pavement behind the hippo…while his eyes flare wide and his mouth drops open, lower lip trembling like the lid of boiling pot.

He mouths a single dry, rasping word…splitting it in two.

“B-Bis… _millah!”_

The sound of deep, raspy breathing fills the alley, underscored by the noise of masonry falling to the pavement.

…and then crashing against the surrounding walls.

Judy is five yards from the alleyway entrance when she hears a wolf howling…but this is like no howl she’s ever heard before; deep and guttural, it’s almost a roar.  The next thing she hears is the sound of a frenzied battle.  There’s a wolf snarling, a hippo bellowing, and then one violent impact after another…and a then ripping sound followed by a scream of terror and agony.  The bunny-cop flattens herself against the wall, breathing hard, dart-gun at the ready, ears rigid and trembling.  That sounded like—nooo, _hippos_ don’t scream…do they? 

She hears another scream, and then Rashid comes flying out of the alley and  into the street, headed straight for her.

No time to shout a warning; Judy drops to one knee and takes aim.  She had better make _this_ one count, or…

 The hippo falls prostrate in front of her, fruitlessly trying to grab at her ankles, a drowning mammal clutching at straws.  It’s almost humorous, a huge hippo trying to snatch hold of a tiny little rabbit’s legs.

Except…his guard’s uniform is nothing but tatters and the body beneath is crisscrossed with claw-marks.

He’s also trembling as if an ice-storm has just blown down the street.

“Please…help me!” he begs, looking up at Judy with wet, beseeching eyes, “Don’t let him hurt me, don’t let him GET me!”

Judy’s own eyes go wide and her nose begins to twitch…but then she hears another noise, a deep, metronomic rumbling sound.  What IS that?

She looks up.

…and gasps.

A face is peering around the corner…wild, incandescent eyes, neck fur spiking like a hedgehog’s quills, lips drawn back to expose a phalanx of sharp, lupine teeth.  

Judy’s seen this face before, behind the bulletproof glass in the Cliffside Lab…and earlier, when Mr. Manchas had come blasting out of the door to his bungalow, ready to turn her and Nick into mincemeat.

But then…the animal’s brow performs two quick push-ups.

“You were told to stay in the command truck, Hopps!” he growls, and disappears back around the corner.

A paw falls on Judy’s shoulder.  She nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Cheez n’ crackers Nick, don’t DO that!”

“Sor-ree!” he says, backing up with his paws raised.

Judy lets it pass.  She points at the alleyway

“Did you see that?”

Nick tilts his head sideways.

“See what?”

“That…” the bunny-cop starts to say, but her partner has just taken notice of Rashid, trembling on the ground in a semi-fetal position.

“Holy smoked grasshoppers, what happened to HIM?” He looks up at Judy, _“You_ didn’t…?”

“Of course not!”  She snaps, then points at Rashid, “Cuff him and read him his rights.”

Without waiting for an answer, she draws her tranquilizer gun and begins to pad towards the alleyway.  Taking a deep breath, the bunny-cop readies her weapon, swallowing hard, and preparing to move in.

That’s when Officer Howell comes limping around the corner, helped along by Officer Simmers, at last free of the dumpster.   The red wolf looks even more disheveled than he’d been in his street-geek disguise…and NOTHING like the animal Judy saw peering around the corner a moment ago.

As he hobbles past her, he lifts an ear,

“Didn’t Chief Bogo tell you to stay put?” 

He says it as if it’s the _first_ time he brought up the subject.

And then Judy hears more officers approaching.  Someone speaks into a radio, it sounds like Van Horn.

“Dispatch, we have an injured officer…need an ambulance.”

For a long, hard moment, Judy stares at the alleyway entrance with her nose twitching, and then finally, she turns away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note for anyone just tuning in; the Prologue to Zootopia 2, The Fire Triangle can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11620323/chapters/26127297


	4. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Precinct 1, the next day

**Chapter 4**

Nick Wilde is back in uniform again, legs crossed, arms folded, mirrored sunglasses perched between his ears.  He’s leaning casually against the wall, beside a door marked ‘ZPD -- Females’ Lockers.’

While he waits, the fox recites a line to himself, each time giving it a slightly different inflection, as if rehearsing for a play.

“I know what I saw, Nick.   I _know_ what I saw, Nick.  I know what I _saw_ , Nick.  **_I_** know what ** _I_** saw, Nick.”

Judy Hopps exits the locker room, also in uniform.

She turns to face her partner…or rather, she turns _on_ him. 

“I KNOW what I saw, Nick...and I heard that and you’re _not_ funny.” 

She wheels a 180 and walks away, turning her gaze in every direction but the fox’s as if to inform the world, _“Look everybody, SEE how I’m ignoring him?”_

Nick sighs, shakes his head, and catches up to her.

“All right Carrots, I had my fun.   But you saw… _what_ , an animal gone savage; something that hasn’t happened in almost two years now?”

Judy stops and thumps her foot on the ground.

“I know what I saw!”

Nick pretends he didn’t hear her. 

“And then you saw him again, only a few seconds later… _completely_ normal?”

Judy’s eyes harden and her jaw sets; she puts her paws on her hips, as if daring the fox to make another ‘clever’ remark.

“I never said it was _Howell._   It could have been…”

“No Carrots,” Nick interrupts her, “There was only ONE wolf in that alleyway and that wolf was Officer Tad Howell.” As if anticipating her next statement, he taps the side of his muzzle, “The nose knows.”

Judy sighs in resignation…but not defeat.

“All right, but you know as well as I do that there’s an antidote for Nighthowler now.”

Nick is _so_ ready for THAT one.

“An antidote so secret, even the _name_ is kept under wraps…and the last of the Nighthowler extract was destroyed right after Bellwether started her prison term.  And she’s _still_ behind bars if you recall.”

“But _Doug_ isn’t.” Judy archly reminds him…and now it’s Nick’s turn to find the walls interesting.  Like it or not, she’s right.  While his chums Jesse and Woolter were later apprehended by the ZPD, Dawn Bellwether’s chemist-cum-sniper was never caught.  A brick by brick search of the tunnel where he’d last been seen had turned up not even so much as a strand of the rogue sheep’s wool. 

However Nick isn’t beaten just yet.

“Okay, then why would Doug…?” 

He stops, forming a ‘T’ with his paws, “Wait, hold it, full stop.” 

It’s time to lay down his trump card.

‘Tell you what Carrots, I’ll admit you’re right if you can explain just one thing to me.  How is it that an animal gone savage SPOKE to you and then _backed off?”_

Judy winces and looks away, sucking air between her teeth as if she just stuck herself with a cactus thorn.  This is the one thing she can’t explain and both of them know it.  Animals darted with Nighthowler can’t even reason, much less communicate; the only thing they know is, ‘If it moves, attack it!’

But still…

“All right but can YOU explain what did that to our hippo?   Ughhhh, did you get a look at that hot mess?”

The red fox rolls his eyes in that annoying manner of his.

“Okay, you know what?   Now you’re reaching; he crashed through _a brick wall_ , for crying out loud!”

Judy’s nose begins to twitch.

“That’s not what he said to me….and that’s not what I saw when he opened the truck door.”

“Well it’s what he said in his _statement_ , Carrots.” Nick feels his upper lip starting to vibrate; doesn’t she EVER let go? “And you saw him in the truck doorway for what, maybe two seconds.” 

He looks up at the ceiling for a second.  There’s a question he needs to ask her…even if he doesn’t _want_ to ask it. 

Finally he says, “Have you taken this up with the Chief?”

Judy sighs once more….and this time, yeah, she’s conceding the argument.   Nick can tell by the way the air seems to flow out of her.

“No,” she admits, quietly, “and I’m not going to either.”

Officers Wolford and Grizzoli come down the hall.  When the grey wolf sees Nick and Judy, he taps his partner on the shoulder and the pair hurriedly pick up the pace, making certain NOT to look at the fox and bunny as they pass.

Judy doesn’t notice them, but Nick does.

He pretends otherwise.

“Fine,” he says, “then if you’re not going to take this any further, then what’s the point in arguing about it?”

Judy answers by holding an arm straight out from her side, pantomiming the act of letting something fall to the floor.  Her expression is stoic, but also sardonic.

“Subject dropped; happy now?”

Nick lets out a puff of air.  Not really happy but this will do; if ever there was a time _not_  to push something like this, it's right now.

“Let’s get to roll-call,” he says.

Out of the frying pan…into the blast furnace; when Nick and Judy enter the precinct lobby, it seems as if _every_ animal in the building is on either a cellphone, a tablet, or a laptop…and the instant they see the fox and bunny approaching they stow their gear ASAP. 

 And not one of them so much as glances in Nick and Judy’s direction; the charade continues all the way to the door of the briefing room.

“What’s _that_ all about?” the red fox asks, pausing at the threshold and poking a thumb over a shoulder.

Judy looks  as if she just became aware of a toothache.

“What do you THINK it’s all about?” she says, giving her foot another thump.  

Nick just waves an airy paw..

“Oh come on, Carrots, it can’t be … _that._   I’m sure everyone’s forgotten about what happened in that jewelry store by now.”

“Oh, reaaaallly?” Judy’s voice is high and mocking.  And then without warning, she turns and kicks open the door to the bullpen door; a gunfighter crashing a saloon.  (No mean feat, given her small stature.)

Inside, it’s almost a party.  On the big, overhead, flat panel display, the surveillance camera footage Nick and Judy’s kiss is playing in a continuous loop, complete with a dub-step soundtrack.  Some of the cops are laughing, others are rolling their eyes in disgust, and Andersen, the polar-bear is pretending to put his fingers down his throat. 

Francine Trunkaby storms past Nick and Judy, unable to take this another second of this.  “Can you believe a predator and prey would DO that?” She’s so upset, she doesn’t realize who she’s talking to. 

Then Clawhauser comes in through the door opposite, toting a bag of popcorn roughly the size of a weather balloon.

“Hey guys,” he calls cheerily, nodding up at the overhead display, “Guess what?  It’s up to 200,000 hits on Ewe-tu…!  Oh, (cough!) H-Hi Hopps…Hello Wilde.”

Nick tries to speak but Judy cuts him off.

“Don’t…you…say anything to me!” She hisses, and stalks away from him with her fists jammed downward.

Just then Chief Bogo’s voice comes over the P.A..

“Attention, Office Hopps…Officer Wilde.   Report to me downstairs in room I-5…immediately.”

Judy and Nick look at each other, the ‘kiss-party’ momentarily forgotten.   Is this where they get chewed out for disobeying orders and leaving the command truck? 

No way to tell, but if the Chief wants to talk you _downstairs_ , instead of in his _office_ …. Not!  Good!

* * *

 

On their way down to the lower level, Nick attempts to apologize, spreading his paws in a half placating/half pleading gesture as he steps along behind his partner.

“I swear Carrots, if I’d known THIS was going to happen, I’d _never_ have kissed you.”  

Judy is having none of it; she thumps her foot and turns to face him…and her expression softens at the look of contrition on his face, becoming attentive, almost affectionate—if still a bit peeved.

“Ohhh Nick, Nick, Nick…Oh,what did you expect—dumb fox?   You _knew_ we were on surveillance cam.  Sweet cheez n’ crackers!”  

She turns and continues on down the stairs leaving unsaid what the both of them already know, that what they saw in the bullpen just now is only the beginning.

 _“I only hope I’m wrong about that?”_  Judy thinks but doesn’t say.

And then another thought crowds it out; she stops and turns around again.  Nick braces himself, but this time Judy has something else on her mind.

She looks up at the fox; big, earnest eyes and squared shoulders.

“Nick?   I want you to know that if…if we’re in any kind of trouble for disobeying orders and leaving the command truck, then I’m taking full responsibily.”

The fox’s paws go immediately to his hips.

“Like heck you are, Carrots, nobody made me come with you.”  He gives his chest a quick poke with a thumb, “And there’s no way I’m leaving MY partner to face a thug like that hippo all by herself.”

Judy clasps his arms

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Welcome Carrots,” he says, and then unable to resist he winks. “Just don’t kiss _me,_ okay?”

Judy crinkles her nose and mouth and narrows her eyes, “Just don’t _you_ push your luck, mister”

“Backing off.” He says, playfully raising his paws, and then the two of them continue on their way downstairs, with Judy’s sstep much lighter than a moment ago.

When she and Nick get to room I-5, they find a cluster of other officers gathered around the door.

It’s the precinct lobby all over again; the instant they’re spotted, all conversation ceases and the looks that follow range from hilarity to revulsion.  Chief Bogo is nowhere in sight.

But then Officer Van Horn turns and knocks on the I-5 door, poking his head within.

“They’re here, Chief.”

“Send them in.” the Cape Buffalo booms from somewhere beyond the door-frame.

It’s only after entering that Nick and Judy realize where they are.  The walls of the room are painted a dingy two-tone gray, the overhead lighting consists of two caged fluorescent bars, and the wall beside the door is taken up almost entirely by a mirror…which Nick and Judy both know is _not_ a mirror on its other side.

And there in the center of the room are Ahmed and Ismael Rafaj seated at a table with a nattily-dressed porcupine sitting between them.  On the opposite side is Chief Bogo, and lying on the tabletop between them is a digital voice recorder.

In their mixed consternation over the kiss party and the abrupt summons, the fox and bunny hadn’t realized where they were going…until now.

Room I-5… _Interrogation_ room 5.

The jackals’ reaction to their appearance is both swift and satisfying.  One look at the fox and bunny in police uniforms and the brothers’ eyes appear to grow three sizes and their jaws fall open like gallows traps.  

Chief Bogo meanwhile assumes his most ingratiating smile.  When he speaks, his tone is all formality and warmth.

He gestures towards the newcomers with a grand sweep of his arm.

“Ahmed…Ismael?  If I may, I would like to introduce you to _Officer_ Nicholas Wilde and _Officer_ Judith Hopps of the Zootopia Police Department.” 

The cordiality vanishes as he pounds a fist on the table and waves Judy’s ring under the jackals’’ collective noses.  “So now are you going to _continue_ to insist you’ve never seen this stone before…or are you ready to start co-operating?”

Ahmed and Ismael exchange a frightened look before directing a hurried glance at the porcupine, who just sits there, staring straight ahead.

Then Ismael swallows and clears his throat.

“M-Might we have a moment to consult with our attorney in private, please?”

“Certainly.” Bogo says, once again all smiles, “Take all the time you need…”  And then the smile is wiped away, leaving only a smoldering scowl, “just as long as I have my answer within the next five minutes!”

He gets up and opens the door beckoning with crooked finger for Nick and Judy to follow.

That’s when Ahmed bolts halfway out of his seat, paws on the table, whining like a buzzing fly.

“They are only _diamonds_ , bey,” he protests, “just diamonds!”

Chief Bogo turns and gives him a glacial stare.

“Just diamonds purchased with _guns.”_ He snorts, “Just diamonds mined by _slave labor_.”

He ushers Nick and Judy through the door and then makes his own exit, slamming it behind him.

As soon as he’s clear of the interrogation room, Bogo’s mood becomes lighter once again…but this time it’s not a performance.  A friendly smile may be something of an effort for this Cape buffalo…but not so a smile of triumph.

It’s actually a mild reaction compared to that of the other officers.  Van Horn and Snarlov give each other a high five while Officer Rick Spottiswood, a leopard, is folding over with laughter.   Also present is a new face, a chamois in a tan suit, with an ID badge hanging from one pocket.  Even compared to Bogo, his outlook is subdued; he appears half pleased, half apprehensive.

“O-M  Goodbar!” Spottiswood says, straightening up and pointing through the one-way mirror, towards the pair of jackals, now deep in a huddle with their lawyer, “Did you _see_ the expression on that one guy’s face when the chief brought Wilde and Hopps into the room?  For a minute there, I thought we were going to need the defibrillator!”

“Oh for most certainly,” Snarlov agrees, “They’ll start to sing _now_ , I think.”

“Sing?” Van Horn guffaws. “Those two are gonna perform an OPERA.”  He nods over at Nick and Judy; the fox responds by giving him a sour look; _‘Hey thanks for_ **finally** _noticing we’re here.’_

“Just you wait,” the rhino goes on, either ignoring Nick or not caring, “By tonight, I bet we get the name of us every single one of their suppliers.”

“I believe you’re right, Van Horn.” The chief says, and then throws a satirical look at the chamois, who in turn throws up his hooves in a mixture of irritation and defeat.

“All right Bogo, you want me to say it?  I’ll say it.  You were right and I was wrong, keeping Hopps and Wilde in reserve as your closers did the trick.”

From below Judy coughs and clears her throat.  She’s not nearly as miffed as Nick…just the opposite in fact.

“Ch-Chief?” she says, tracing a design on the floor with her big toe, “I just wanted to say that…uhm,  I…want to apologize for going after that hippo instead of staying in the command truck.”

To her surprise, Bogo waves a dismissive hoof.

“Oh, never mind that, Hopps.  Given the circumstances, your actions were justified.  He’d _already_ made you as police officers, and you couldn’t just let him get away.”

But then his trademark scowl appears and he points a finger at her and Nick in turn. “Just the same, let this be a lesson—to both of you.  In future, when I give you an order to stay back, you’d do well NOT to assume that it’s only because your species.  Do I make myself clear? ”

“Yes, sir.” Says Nick.

“Right Chief.”  Says Judy.

“Now,” the Cape Buffalo says, leaning back against a table, and folding his arms, “It so happens there’s another reason why I’ve had you brought down here.” 

He gestures towards the chamois with an open hoof, “Officer Hopps…Officer Wilde, this is Deputy Chief Prosecutor Rudy Gamsbart, of the Zootopia Attorney General’s office.”

“Nice to meet you,” the chamois says, offering hoof and shaking quickly with each of them.  He lingers a bit longer with Judy than with Nick, a fact that doesn’t escape the fox’s notice.   

Nick lets it ride; had Gamsbart been a fellow predator species, it would have been _he_ who got the longer pawshake.  If nothing else, he’s learned that much about animal nature since becoming a police officer.

Meanwhile Chief Bogo has resumed his post as moderator.

“I’ve asked you to meet with Mr. Gamsbart, because it seems we may have finally got ourselves lead on The Phantom.”

Judy’s ears fall back and her eyebrows lift…and then her nose is twitching.

“The…Phantom?” she says slowly, “I-I’m sorry Chief…I’m not familiar with that name.”

“Oh _I_ know who that is, Carrots.” Nick says, bright and eager as always to show off his street-smarts.  In response Judy’s ears become as rigid as propeller blades and she can barely keep her foot from thumping.  She _hates_ it when he does this.

“He’s a loanshark, practically a legend on the street.” The red fox continues, seemingly unaware that his partner is coming to a low boil.  “No one’s ever met him; no one’s ever seen him.”  He shrugs, “Heck nobody even knows what _species_ he is.  The cops…” he coughs, “I-I mean WE’VE been trying to bust him for almost three years now.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Bogo says offering an ironic smile.  He too has seen Nick pull this routine before; you can take the fox off the street, but…

“But how, sir?” Judy asks, no longer irked, but intrigued, “Not getting caught is one thing, but nearly three years and we don’t even know his species?  How…how does he DO it?”

Bogo yields the floor to Rudy Gamsbart.

“By keeping his distance,” the chamois says, “he only communicates with his ‘clients’ via the net and even then only by text-message or e-mail, no voice or video.”

“We know of at least one instance where he broke off a deal after his ‘client’ insisted on hearing his voice.” Chief Bogo puts in, nodding.

“That’s right.” Gamsbart says, “But even after that, the client still refused to cooperate with us.”

“Wow, The Phantom must REALLY have had him intimidated.”  Judy observes.

Bogo’s mouth pulls to one side and he blows a snort through a nostril. 

“He’s also a hacker, Hopps….and a very good one.   ZPD Cybercrimes has never been able to track down his servers…much less crack their encryption code.”  His tone becomes one of almost grudging admiration…almost.  “He’s one cyber-savvy individual our Phantom…and that’s someone you _don’t_ want angry at you if you’re computer dependent.”

“And by necessity, every single one of the Phantom’s ‘Clients’ is just that,” Gamsbart concurs, “Around the Prosecutor’s office he’s known as The Phantom _Blot_ , he’s so good at covering his tracks.”

“But how does he make a _loan_ without being tracked?” Judy asks, nose twitching yet again, “Or collect his payments?  Exchanging information over the net is one thing…but even I know that online money transfers are a whole lot easier to trace than just messages.”

The chamois starts to answer this, but then defers to Bogo.

“Quite right, Hopps,” the Cape buffalo tells her…and IS that a note of admiration in his voice? “If The Phantom were to use the net for his money transfers, we could run him down in a heartbeat.”  He pulls at a horn, “Needless to say, he doesn’t.”

“So how DOES he transfer the money?”  Nick inquires, joining the discussion.

It’s the chamois who answers him.

“I’m glad you asked that, Officer Wilde…because that’s why you’re here.  We have just now learned how The Phantom delivers and picks his money.   He uses what’s known as a ‘dead drop’.  That’s…”

“I know what a dead-drop is, Mr. Gamsbart,” Nick tells him, perhaps a mite too hastily. “Pre-arranged location, one animal leaves the money, another one picks it up and they never see each other.”

“That way if either bag-mammal gets caught he can’t give the other one away, even if he wants to.”  Judy says this with an edge to her voice.  Even more than Nick, she despises being patronized…and the dead-drop routine is nothing new, it goes practically back to the stone-age.

Gamsbart just continues as if there’d been no interruptions.  He didn’t last this long in the Zootopia AG’s office without learning how not to hear things.  He aims two fingers down the hall, towards a second interrogation room.

“Last night, one of the ZPD’s Confidential Informants was arrested while attempting to burglarize a cold-storage warehouse in Tundratown.”

“He’s lucky it was the _police_ who caught him.” Nick Wilde observes in an aside to Judy and the Chief, “Mr. Big doesn’t LIKE street criminals operating in his territory.”

“You’re quite right about that Officer Wilde.” Chief Bogo says, capping the line with a dark, echoing chortle, “However, in this case it may be ourselves who’ve been smiled upon by the goddess of good fortune.”  He nods in the direction where Gamsbart just pointed, “Our C.I. claims to know the location of a cash pick-up the Phantom is making tomorrow.  He says he’ll give it to us in exchange for dropping the burglary charges.”

“Just let him walk?” Judy asks, nose twitching once again.  Something like that would be almost unprecedented.

“Out of the question.” Gamsbart tells her flatly. “The Attorney General’s Office is willing to reduce the charge to possession of stolen property…IF the informant’s information is any good, but there will be no slap on the wrist here.”

“That was probably only his first offer anyway.” Nick says, “You watch, I bet he’ll settle for a lot less than that.”  Once again, he’s trying to show off his street savvy.

“Perhaps…perhaps not,” Bogo rumbles, showing his trademark scowl. “He _knows_ how badly we want the Phantom.  The banking community’s been up in arms ever since the rumour started that he finds his clients by hacking into their databases, looking for animals rejected as bad loan risks.”

“Hmmm,” Nick muses, pulling at his chin with thumb and forefinger, “THAT I didn’t know.” He looks up at the Chief and then over at Gamsbart, “and oh yeah, it would give your informant some bargaining power, no doubt about it.”

“Especially with the clock ticking,” Judy observes, and then she asks the obvious, “Why us?”

Gambart gestures towards the door again.

“This particular informant has sold us a bill of goods on at least one prior occasion.  A year ago, he was caught lying on the witness stand and nearly cost us a case we’d been building for more than a year.”  He shrugs, “Frankly, if it were anyone less than The Phantom he’s offering, I’d consider him a waste of time.”

Nick grimaces and whispers to Judy, “Oh happy day, Carrots.  Who do _we_ know that once tried to get away with lying under oath?”

She responds with a shudder and an exhalation though gritted teeth.

“That’s where you two come in.” Chief Bogo is saying, “You’ve had dealings with this informant before.  You know him and you know how he thinks,” He points towards the interrogation room a second time, “I want you two to get in there and go to work.  Find out what he knows and determine where or not it’s valid…then report directly to me.  I’ll make a determination as to whether or not we pursue this any further.”

“And remember,” Rudy Gamsbart says, waving a cautionary hoof, “The most we’re prepared to offer is a reduction to possession of stolen property…and he’s lucky to be getting THAT much after the way he embarrassed us last time.”

“Chief?”

Judy and Nick turn around to see Swinton and Simmers arriving.   By way of greeting the sow passes a digital voice recorder to Judy.  

“All charged up and ready to go.” She says.

“Hmmm,” says Gamsbart asks, turning to the bear and taking note of his bandaged arm. “Would you be Officer Simmers by any chance?”

“Yes, that’s me,” the Kodiak answers, raising a curious brow.

The chamois responds with an approving nod and the offer of a hoof

“Oh good…well I want you to know Simmers, the Attorney General’s office will be adding  ‘assaulting a police officer’ to the charges already lodged against Rashid al-Azif.  If there’s one thing the AG won’t tolerate, it’s a felon thinking he can get away with hurting one of our cops.”

“Thank YOU sir.” The bear says, meaning it.  Although his physical injuries at the hippo’s hooves were relatively minor, his pride suffered nearly irreparable damage.

“Speaking of Officer Howell, how is he?” Judy asks, drawing a wary glance from Nick.  Dangit, he thought she’d _dropped_ this.

“A lot better,” Simmers answers, still buoyed by the chamois’ announcement. “Turns out nothing was broken after all.  The docs say he can come home tomorrow.”

* * *

 

In fact, Tad Howell is milking it for everything he can get

He lies in his hospital bed with the curtains drawn around him, surrounded by dozens of ‘get-well’ bouquets from fellow officers and female admirers.  At the moment, he is watching a program on ZSPN, the Large Mammals Female MMA championships.  He boos loudly at the screen, where a panther femme has just been disqualified by the referee for, ‘use of illegal claw enhancements’.

“You want enhancements, I’ll give you enhancements,” the red wolf growls sardonically, tapping at his shoulder and taking another spoonful of ice cream.

When it comes to owning a sweet tooth, Benjamin Clawhauser apparently has nothing on this wolf.  In addition to the ice cream, the third of three bowls, an open box of Three Mustelids bars is laying the mattress beside him, most of them gone.  Over on his right, an empty box marked ‘Sweeties Scots Confectionary Shop’ protrudes halfway out of the wastebasket next to the bed.

Disgusted with the results of the fight he’s been watching, Howell reaches for the remote.  Just then a silhouette appears on the other side of the bed curtain.

The wolf frowns.  Funny, he didn’t hear the door open.

The shape moves closer to the bed and the outline becomes much more distinct, a mammal slightly smaller than the wolf…and very much of the feminine variety.

Howell relaxes and a lascivious grin slides around his muzzle.

“Hey nurse, time for my physical therapy already?” he says, thoroughly enjoying his own joke.

But then his nostrils flare and so do his eyes—and then he’s pulling himself backwards, cringing against the bed- pillow as the curtain is swiped aside to reveal a female wolverine; the one last seen taking Junior McCrodon for a ride.

Standing behind her and off to one side is Seth Whitepaugh.

And he does _not_ look pleased.

“Mind the door Slashburn.”

The female wolverine goes out the door, closing it behind her

Whitepaugh waits until she’s gone, and then moves forward, looming over Howell and polishing his knuckles with his pawlm.

“You activated without authorization,” is all he says.

Howell sits up rapidly in bed, still frightened, but also irritated.

“Hey, wait minute, I was told I could do that in an emergency.”

“Emergency…” Whitepaugh speaks in a monotone while giving Howell a steely eye; he’s clearly not in the mood to waste words.

“Yes, _emergency.”_ The red wolf is no longer merely annoyed, but exasperated, “My tail was caught and my leg was injured and that blankey-blank hippo was getting ready to plant an iron pipe in my skull.  If I hadn’t activated when I did, I’d be on life-support in the ICU instead of being kept here overnight for observation.” His lip curls upwards, revealing his incisors. “Don’t tell me you don’t KNOW that!”

In response to this, Whitepaw’s mouth also spreads open, revealing teeth that are like daggers against butter-knives in comparison to the Howell’s canines.

 _“Don’t_ bare your fangs at ME.” He tells the police-wolf coldly, and then surprisingly, he relents.

“As a matter of fact, we _are_ aware; and yes, under the circumstances, your action was justified.”

Howell’s ears work back and forth in confusion.

“Then why…?”

The answer comes in the form of Whitepaugh grabbing him by the lower jaw and forcing the wolf to meet his gaze.  At no point does he raise his voice. In fact it becomes little softer.

“What _wasn’t_ so acceptable,” the wolverine almost purrs, “is that when Rashid al-Azif attempted to flee the scene, you, for some odd reason, elected to give _chase.”_   He lets go and takes a step backward.  “Why was that, Officer Howell?  What was the reasoning behind such a reckless act?”

The wolf rubs at his muzzle.

“Azif had me made; I had to stop him before he could tell anyone…”

The account ends in a choked gurgle as Whitepaugh grabs him again…this time by the throat.  Even in spite of their relative sizes, the wolverine handles him as easily as a rag-toy.

“Howell?” he says, in a tone of velvety menace, “Do I look like some B-list street-hustler, peddling pawpsicles to you?”

The red wolf tries to answer him but all that comes out is a frog’s croak.  He has better luck with a head-shake and Whitepaugh drops him like an oat-sack.

“Then _don’t_ talk to me like one,” the wolverine growls; he sounds like a fed-up teacher lecturing a slacker. “You know perfectly well that no one would have taken the word of a felon like that over even a rookie police officer.  And as matter of fact, Azif said nothing about you in his statement to the ZPD.  Instead, he claimed to have sustained his injuries when he went through that brick wall…a wise decision on the hippo’s part, if I do say so myself.”

He looks up and away for a second, pretending to be lost in thought.

“On the other paw, if one of your fellow _police_ _officers_ were to have reported seeing you in that state…well now, there would be someone just a little more believable, wouldn’t you say?”

Still massaging his neck, Tad Howell lets out a burbling groan.  He knows where this is going, and there’s no point trying to dodge it.

“Yes, Officer Hopps saw me,” he admits, “Only for a second, and only my face…but yes, she saw me.”

Whitepaugh turns to face him, his eyes narrowing into slivers of volcanic glass.

“And did you _say_ anything to her?”

Howell lowers his gaze to the floor.

“I…I told…I reminded her she was supposed to have stayed in the command truck.”

He looks up again, bracing himself, waiting for the blow…but instead, the wolverine looks _pleased._

“Good,” he answers cryptically, and then, “I appreciate your candor in admitting that, Howell…and you did everything afterwards correctly, including notifying us of the activation even before getting your partner out of that trash dumpster.  With that in mind, I think we can write this off as an honest mistake in the heat of the moment.”

Howell starts to relax, but catches himself.  If he doesn’t know by _now_ that he isn’t getting off quite so lightly…

And sure enough, in the blink of an eye, he’s nose to nose with Whitepaugh again, the wolverine sniffing deeply as is trying to imprint his scent for later.

“But the _next_ time you violate protocol,” he murrs, in that same velveteen voice, “you will NOT live to regret it.  Is that understood?”

Without waiting for an answer, the wolverine drops him and goes to the door.  Before making his exit he turns and looks back at Howell, pointing with two fingers.

“Just remember…we’re watching.”

And then he’s gone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: keep an eye out for the Easter Egg, a reference to one of the Walt Disney Comics and Stories most iconic characters.


	5. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and Judy pay a call on an old acquaintance. (...one whom, as far at they're concerned, should be forgot and never brought to mind.)
> 
> (This story contains a double Easter Egg)

**Chapter 5**

Nick and Judy are standing in front of the door to Interrogation Room I-3. Both of them are tense and anxious; newbie paratroopers waiting at the door of a jump-plane.

"Okay, I'm reading everything five-by-five," Officer Swinton says, looking up from the microphone console, "He'll all yours."

The fox and bunny give each other a final look and then Nick opens the door and two of them step inside.

The room is smaller than the one where Bogo had his Q-and A with the Rafaj brothers, but the décor is all the same; plain gray paint-job, a two-way mirror stretching the length of one wall, metal table bolted to the floor, and a trio of generic, wood chairs in small mammal size. The one on the opposite side is currently occupied by a certain, scruffy individual, all too familiar to the fox and bunny.

Duke Weaselton wastes no time.

"Well welllll…if ain't Cutie and the Beast!"

He lasciviously pantomimes the act of kissing.

Judy Hopps slaps a paw over her eyes; she was expecting something smarmy from this weasel…but Jimineez, does the whole WORLD know about that kiss-video? She could wring Nick Wilde's neck.

"Don't call her that,  _Weselton."_  The fox tells him flatly. (You push my button, I'll push yours.)

But for once, the gibe has no effect...or at least not the one Nick was hoping for. The Dukester's ears seem to wilt and he feigns a look of exaggerated contrition.

"Aw gee, I fergot …anyone else calls her a 'beast' an' you'll rip their lungs out."

He falls back in his chair, clutching his sides and laughing uproariously, loving every second.

Judy takes a seat and sets the voice-recorder down on the table top, reciting the usual litany:

"This interrogation is taking place at 09:47…"

That's as far as she gets before the weasel interjects, "Exactly one day after the kiss-heard-round-the-world!"

Nick looks as if he's like to pounce on Mr. Weasel-Mouth but Judy just calmly continues…ever the girl-scout.

"The suspect's name is Duke Weaselton…"

… or maybe she's  _not_  such a girl-scout.

"…alias Corkscrew-Face…"

"HEY!"

Judy just goes on in that same monotone.

"…alias Moron-Boy, alias Super-Loser…"

"Knock it off, bun-bun!"

"...more commonly known as Duke Weselton."

"That's WEASELTON, lover-girl." ( _Now_ , she's getting under his fur…while in the background Nick Wilde has to stand on his tail to keep from laughing.)

Judy leans forward, slapping an arm on the table.

"I can do this all day, Weaselton…can you?"

"Kiss my tail, sweety cheeks!" the weasel sneers, and then points at Nick "Or do I have to line up behind  _him_  first?"

Judy swipes the recorder off the table and shuts it down.

"Uh-huh…just as I thought." She waves a paw at Nick, "Come on fox, we're out of here."

Beckoning to her partner, Judy gets up and goes to the door—while Duke Weaselton pops out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

"Hey, where ya think  _you're_  going?"

Judy looks at him over a shoulder, "To make our report to the Chief…that you don't know a thing about The Phantom…that you're just playing games again."

Nick Wilde immediately raises his paws…and a protest.

"Hey, hold it, Carrots. We can't walk out of here before we even…"

"Watch me."

Duke Weaselton aims a warning finger.

"You leave here Flopsie, and you can kiss busting The Phantom good-bye."

Judy levels  _her_  gaze right back it him.

"As IF we were going to get anything about him from a mammal that's already been caught lying on the witness stand," She offers him a honeyed smile, dipped in acid, "You really don't get it, do you,  _Weselton?_  We were sent here to check the truth of your story."

The honey vanishes, the acid stays behind. "And I've heard enough; the only thing YOU have to offer is more  _fake_  news."

"Waiiiit, we don't know that." Nick tries to intervene a second time. While he doesn't trust Weaselton any more than his partner, even less does he want to chance losing a shot at The Phantom."

"Oh come on, Fox." Judy rejoins, waving her fingers at Duke, "You know this weasel as well as I do; if his information was any good, he'd have given us a looky-loo the minute we came in here and saved the slimy stuff for later."

Nick purses his lips and growls. Like it or not, she's right.

Duke Weaselton lets out a growl of his own, more of a hiss, actually

"Okay, fine, walk out of here, Cutie…but first you gotta ask yourself a question. What if you shine me on and it turns out what I got on The Phantom is legit? What happens to you then, huh?"

Judy turns a smug face on the weasel.

 _"Nothing_  happens to us, Duke…because if no one acts on your so-called lead, no one's going to KNOW if it was any good." She smirks showing her front teeth, "Too bad…you were looking at that burglary charge being reduced to stolen property possession. No such luck, now."

 _That's_  what finally breaks through Weaselton's tough-guy façade. His eyes expand and his lips pull back in a horrified grimace. What the bunny just told him is 100% accurate—and he should have thought about it  _before_ he tried to have some fun at her and Nick's expense.

Chittering like a kit, he throws out a paw as if making a last-ditch grab for a lifeline.

"WAIT!"

But Nick and Judy are already out the door.

A second later, it opens again, and Officer Simmers enters the room, a pair of paw-cuffs jingling in his thick fingers.

"All right, Weaselton, assume the position."

The weasel waves his arms as if trying to ward off an apparition.

"Wait no, listen…c'mon, if I go down on this burglary rap it's my third strike."

"Turn around and put your paws behind your back," the big bear tells him, coldly. "You know what happens if I have to ask you again."

The Dukester complies, but continues to protest.

"Wait, c'mon, you can't do this…I tell you I got good information over here."

Simmers turns him around and begins to march him out the door. All at once, he stops and screws his nose into a prune.

"Eyyycccch, did you just let your musk glands go, Weaselton?"

Duke squirms uncomfortably for a second.

"Hey, I'm a weasel, that's what  _happens_  when my species gets agitated, okay?"

"Just be glad he's not a mink or a wolverine," Officer Swinton notes from somewhere around the corner.

Being none-too-gentle about it, Simmers escorts Duke Weaselton through the door. Outside in the hallway, Nick and Judy are in the midst of heated argument.

"I'm telling you, we're giving up on this way too quickly, Carrots."

"Oh come on Nick. Didn't you hear what he just said, 'a three time loser'? A felon in that bind would say  _anything_  to try to…"

"It's good, I swear!" Weaselton shouts as he's frog-marched past Judy, scuffling every step of the way.

She raises a sardonic eyebrow

"Uh-huh, isn't that's what you always say about those bootleg DVDs?"

Struggling desperately, Duke manages to turn partway around for a second. His scream is like claws on a blackboard.

"IT'S MY BROTHER-IN-LAW!"

Nick instantly raises paw.

"Wait, hold up."

Judy looks as if she's just been told the lamest joke ever.

"Really Nick? Out of a zillion-odd animals in this city, The Phantom just happens to be  _his_ brother-in-law." She shifts her gaze. "What's next, Duke…your second cousin runs the Royal Bank of Corona?"

His voice becomes half panicked, half-pleading.

"Noooo, my sister's husband ain't the Phantom… _he **borrowed**  from The Phantom!"_

Nick and Judy regard each other for a long second

And then, very reluctantly, the bunny cop motions for the prisoner to be brought back inside the interrogation room.

When Judy and Nick join him a moment later, the atmosphere in Room I-3 is like a poker game with a mile-high stack of chips on the table. Duke Weaselton does most of the talking, with Nick offering the occasional observation.

Judy Hopps mostly just keeps quiet. There are times to prod a witness, and there are times to just let him run.

This is one of those second instances.

"Okay," the Dukester is saying, "So my sister is married to this weasel, came over across the pond from Edinburrow a few years back, Ian Shortal's his name, what they call a Stoat over there."

He turns as if looking for a place to spit, and then seems to catch himself.

"To be honest, I never liked the guy. Disgrace to our species, if you ask me."

Nick Wilde raises an ear.

"A disgrace to your species? How do you mean?"

Weaselton's face becomes portrait in distaste.

"Whaddaya think I mean, lover-boy? The guy's hard-working, thrifty, considerate, reliable…" he braces himself as though preparing to slam down a noxious cocktail, "And HONEST. Can ya believe that stuff? An _honest_  weasel!" He shakes his head at the table-top, "Tell me, what is this world comin' to?"

Judy rolls her eyes at Nick, who just shrugs with his pawlms turned upwards.  _'Don't look at me, I'm a fox myself._ ' He seems to be saying.

The Dukester, meanwhile continues.

"Ever since my brother-in-law first moved here, he's had this dream of opening his own Scottish-Style candy-shop, or…ahhhh, what did he call it, again? Complexionary? Confederacy?"

"I think the word you're looking for is confectionary." Nick tells him, after exchanging an amused glance with Judy.

Dukes snaps his fingers

"Confectionary…yeah, that's it. Fudge, toffees, and all kinds of candies…including some weird stuff I never heard of before. What'd he call it? Oh yeah, Edinburrow Rock. And he could of made it work, too. According to what my sister says, he…"

Nick interrupts.

"I thought she never spoke to you."

"Well not to ME she don't," the weasel admits, "But I can still overhear her when she….heyyyy! You wanna hear the rest of this story or not?"

Nick rolls a paw.

"Get on with it, Duke."

"Fine, thank you," Weaselton says, "Anyway, before he came over, Ian was an apprentice under one of the best confess…ah, confectioners in Ediburrow. He had letters of recommendation stacked up to here, a great work record, practically no debts and enough character references to fill Animalia…but he couldn't swing a bank loan to save his life. And no loan, no candy shop."

A small silence fills the room as Judy waits for her partner to pose the inevitable question. When he doesn't ask it, she does.

"Well, all right Weaselton, if he's so conscientious and such a hard worker, why couldn't he manage a bank loan?"

To her considerable befuddlement, the weasel exchanges a knowing look with Nick, and then answers her with both fangs showing.

"Didn't you hear me, copper? My brother-in-law's another  _weasel_. Sheesh!"

Seeing where this train is going, Nick moves quickly to shunt it to a siding.

"What Duke means Carrots, is that if you're a weasel…" he takes deep breath, "or a fox, or any of a few other species I could mention, no bank will touch you on a small-business loan."

It takes all of half a second for Judy to raise a protest, "But that's _illegal_ , Nick. The law specifically states that no animal may be refused credit for reasons of species, gender, or…"

Duke Weaselton interrupts her with a laugh, a harsh, bitter bray that shuts her off like a switch.

Oh, pul-LEASE…You really are a dumb bunny ain'tcha, flatfoot? The banks never tell you it's coz of your  _species_  they ain't lending you no money; they always got some other reason. And if you think a two-bit nobody like my brother-in-law has a chance of provin' otherwise against an umpty-billion-dollar bank, I got this bridge might interest you."

Judy struggles not to fall back in her chair. How the heck did this happen? A minute ago, she had Weaselton practically begging for mercy. Now  _he's_  the one cracking the whip.

And what he said  _can't_  be true…can it?

Then Nick clears his throat.

"Fine Weaselton…but that still doesn't explain how you know he's doing business with The Phantom."

The weasel settles back in his chair with a self-satisfied expression.

"Found out almost entirely by accident, fox. And who'd a' thunk a Mr. Straight-lace ranger-scout like my bro'-in-law would do a deal with  _that_  guy."

Telling the tale seems to transport Weaselton back in time. On that particular night, he was, knocking on the door of a red-brick house in the Otterdam neighborhood, shielding himself from the driving drizzle by pulling his jacket over his head. Next to the door, was an etched-brass plaque, 'The Shortals.'

No one answered, so Duke knocked again. After a moment, his sister Grace answered, shorter than him, but heavier.

"It happened last Sunday, when she invited me to dinner." He says.

"When you invited  _yourself_  to dinner." Nick corrects him.

After one look at who was standing on her doorstep, Grace Shortal had nearly slammed the door in his face. And she would have too, if her husband hadn't shown up just then and invited his brother-in-law inside.

"Canna leave no one out in this muck, dear." He'd said to his wife.

Once inside the house, Duke found himself looking around in wonder and surprise.

"It was the first time I'd been inside my sister's digs in like almost a year…"

"The first time you'd been ALLOWED inside…"

"An' I was just amazed at all the new stuff they had…"

"And wondering which ones you could fence."

"Hey fox, who's tellin' this story, you or me?"

"Sorry, go ahead."

Around the dinner table, Ian had been in a jubilant mood, talking animatedly and gesturing with his paws. Unlike Duke, with his scrawny frame, Ian was of a burly stature (for a weasel). Seated on his right were his kids, Katie and Gordon, while his wife sat on the left, keeping a jaundiced eye on her younger brother, sitting across the table.

"Over dinner, Ian let go that he'd done it, he'd managed to open that candy shop…and it was going like sixty. He was doin' so good, wouldja believ, somedays, he sold OUT of his best stuff. I almost wouldn't of believed it, if I hadn't awready seen it for myself."

In Tundratown, the day before his dinner date, the weasel had goggled in amazement at the mile-long line of animals waiting to get into Sweetie's Scots Confectionary Shop.

"I couldn't believe it," he tells Nick, "So I says to Ian, 'Wait, that was YOUR place I saw?'"

"That you were CASING…"

"Hey, you wanna hear this or not?"

"Nick, let him talk."

"Sorry, Carrots."

"Thanks, cutie-bun."

"Think nothing of it, burned-match-nose."

"Heyyyy! So I asked my brother-in-law how he done it. Where'd he get the dough-ray-me to start that place when none of the banks would back him?"

Before he could answer, Ian's wife had sent him a harsh look that caused him to become suddenly engrossed in his dinner.

"Well, he just kinda waved me off, fox. Wouldn't talk nuthin' about it. Every time I tried to bring it up again, he'd change the subject. Wherever he'd got that money, it wasn't from a place he wanted known about."

"Or wanted YOU to know about..."

For once Nick's barb draws no blood

"No fox," Weaselton folds his arms, "that he wanted  _anybody_  to know about. One of the kids tried to ask about it too, and my sis nearly sent him to his room."

Now, finally, Judy joins the discussion, leaning over the table and tapping with a finger

"Nice try Duke…but just because he wouldn't say where he got the money, that doesn't mean it came from The Phantom. It could have been from any one of a hundred other places." She looks over at her partner and then at the door, "Come on Nick, I told you this was a waste of time."

"Hold yer lizards powder-puff, I ain't done yet!" Weaselton rises halfway from his chair with his paws on the table…and then he's remembering dinner once more….

"So then right before dessert, my brother in law gets this text message…"

And when he got it, Ian abruptly excused himself from the table and went upstairs. When he came back down a few minutes later, the Scottish Stoat was almost crackling with excitement.

"It's all set, my bonny Grace," he said, giving his wife peck on the cheek, "After next Saturday, Sweeties will be all ours."

Instead of hugging him back, Grace hissed though her teeth while shooting an icy look at Duke….and Ian hurried back to his chair, thoroughly chastised.

"So after we finished," Weaselton says, picking up the story in the present, "I excused myself to go use the little weasel's room…"

"… and get out of helping to clear the table." Nick puts in, "Which one of the kids did your sister send to check after you?"

"Katie, but I can always give  _her_  the slip…HEY! So I goes upstairs to use the head off the big bedroom…"

"Find anything interesting in the dresser?" Nick asks.

"Nothing worth…willya quiddit, already, fox? So, I was just about to leave, when…"

Duke was just about to leave the bedroom when he glance over in the corner and spotted a desktop computer, screen darkened, but still running.

"So, just maybe accidentally I kinda moved the mouse. And poof! There's this e-mail right in front of me….and whaddaya think it said, foxy?"

He flashes Nick a toothy smile,

Nick flashes him one right back.

"Here is our price for packing your brother-in-law in a crate and shipping him to Koala Lumpurr?"

"Ha, Ha…really funny, bun-kisser. No, this is what it said…"

Weaselton's lips were moving as he read the message

**"Mr. Shortal:**

**Once again, do not open this message except on your desktop and while you are alone**

**Saturday Jam next. Before 9 AM, BH6. Use the pelican case again and the last of the codes I gave you. Please acknowledge as soon as you get this, but do not expect a reply in return. If all goes well, this will be my last communication with you. After you respond, be certain to delete both emails.**

**PS. Congratulations on all your success. I am very pleased we were able work things out. And BTW, that fudge of yours isn't just the bomb, it's the dang NUKE.**

"Not bad," Nick admits.

"Thanks fox."

"Not you Weaselton, whoever sent that email. Never signed it, and didn't leave a clue as to his true identity…but threw in that little blurb at the end, to let your brother-in-law know he's watching."

Judy Hopps feels her nose start to twitch and taps a finger against her cheek. There's something else about that last line. It's in a style completely at odds with the rest of the email.

A crooked grin spreads outwards along the Dukester's muzzle.

"Yeah, well that ain't the last of it, kissy-fox. There was this little  _arrow_  up in the corner of that email."

"Meaning your brother-in-law replied to it." it Judy says, coming quickly out of her reverie.

"Hey look at that." Weaselton smirks at her, "Well, they say even a blind, deaf, and  _dumb_  bunny finds a carrot once in a while. Yeah, that's right…so I went to the 'sent' file, and my brother-in-law may be honest, but he ain't so bright. He forgot to toast THAT one, too."

"So what did it say, Duke?" Nick says, "And skip the drum-roll, just give it to us straight."

Face bathed in the light of the monitor screen, Duke moved his lips once more as he read the reply. It had been short, but (literally) sweet.

**Message Rcvd. Package will be dlvrd as promised at appt'd time & plc.**

**I. Shortal.**

**PS Cannot thank you enough for all you've done for me and mine. You came along just as I was ready to give up hope. Bless you, sir. If there's ever anything I can do for you, you know where to find me.**

"And that's it?" Judy says, raising a skeptical brow, "That's  _all_ you have?"

"Not quite, cutie." Weaselton leers, "When I got up from the computer, I accidentally dropped my keys under the bed."

"Accidentally…yeah, right," Nick's growl is like sandpaper on a cinder block.

But when Duke reached under the bed, he found something else, a king-size, bullet-proof briefcase, done up in dull-black. And when he turned it over…

"Never seen nothin' like it." Duke is saying, "The darn thing had a digital display and a keypad…but no key _hole_ , only one of them USP ports."

"I think you mean US **B**  port." Nick corrects him with a half snigger.

"Whatever fox," Weaselton flips a paw back and forth, "But I'll betcha anythin' that was the case the Phantom was talking about."

"Yes, IF it was The Phantom who sent that e-mail," Judy says, folding her arms, "You're giving us a lot of 'maybes' here, Duke."

"Hey, whaddaya want from me Flopsie, a bronze plaque with pawprints?" Weaselton is fuming. "No, I don't got the Phantom's name, but I got my brudder-in-law able to open up a business after every bank in town showed 'im the door, I got him makin' a delivery at some prearranged location, just like The Phantom does, and I got 'im was talkin' with the other guy by email and text, also like the Phantom." He taps the table with a finger, "And then there's all that secret stuff, 'delete after reading' and whatever. So no, I ain't sure it's the Phantom, but I AM sure of where a drop is going down that has the way that guy operates written all over it!"

"Not quite, Duke," She leans forward, "What the heck is BH-6?"

The weasel just shrugs. "You're the copper, Kissy-Face…you figger it out. That's all there was in that e-mail."

Once again, Judy ignores the insult.

"All right, Duke," she says, getting up from the table and motioning for her partner to do the same, "I think you've possibly given us something we can work with. We'll let you know how it pans out. Get the recorder, Nick?"

They're halfway to the door when Weaselton comes shooting up out of his chair.

"Heyyy, wait a minnit. What about that plea deal? You promised I could plead down to possession of stolen property if I co-operated."

Judy turns at the door with her paw resting on her hip and one knee slightly raised. In another circumstance, it would be a sultry pose.

"Actually Duke…no. I only said that was what you  _wouldn't_  get if you  _didn't_  talk to us." She pauses to let that sink in a little, fixing him once more with that stinging-sugar smile. "Oh, and by the way," she taps herself in the chest, "It's called Officer Hopps, sweetheart… _not,_  'Flopsie', or 'Sweety-Cheeks', or 'Kissy-Face'…and I may be a dumb bunny, but I'M not one walking out of here with nothing to show for it."

Duke's claws etch lines into the table-top and his voice becomes a ragged scream.

"WHY YOU NO-GOOD, DOUBLE-CROSSIN', LONG-EARED…!"

His rant is cut off as the door closes behind Judy.

When Nick and Judy exit the interrogation room, Simmers and Swinton are also screaming.

…with laughter. She's doubled over and he's nearly rolling the floor.

It's the pig who recovers first.

"That," she says, raising her hooves to Judy as if offering a Hosanna, "has got to be the best twist on good cop/bad cop that I have  _ever_  seen."

Nick meanwhile is peering through the two-way mirror,

"My…My." He says, shaking his head in a 'tut-tut' gesture. "You know, there are times when I almost wish I'd never learned to lip-read." He points at the console, speaking to Officer Swinton, "Whatever you do, don't turn those mikes back on."

"I didn't know you could lip-read, Nick." Judy tells him, nose twitching again. Even now, more than two years after they first met, he can still surprise her.

"Wel-l-lll, only with sharp muzzled species, Carrots," the fox admits, pointing towards his nose and then through the mirror, "With anything else, I run into trouble."

"So what's he saying?" Simmers asks, stepping up beside the fox.

Nick casts a wary eye on Judy before he answers.

"Ahhh, it's mostly about rabbits in general and what he'd like to do to them."

That gets a laugh from everybody.

But then the fox grows serious.

"Uhhh, Carrots?" he says, picking his words with infinite care, "You're not REALLY going to stiff Duke Weaselton on that plea deal, are you?"

Judy's left paw finds her hip again and she waves the other one dismissively.

"Oh, of course not, Nick. If Weaselton's info is good, he'll get his charges reduced." Her expression becomes sardonic and she corks a thumb at the mirror, "Only  _why_ should I tell HIM?"

That gets an even bigger laugh, although Nick's is just a tiny bit uneasy.

"Are you _sure_  you're not part fox, Carrots?" he asks, when he comes down again.

She tosses her ears, pretending to look indignant, "Hmph, how dare you?" and then grins.

"C'mon," the fox grins back, "Let's go see the Chief."

A few moments later, they're standing before Bogo's desk, while the Cape buffalo paces behind it, snorting and brooding over what he's just heard.

Abruptly he stops and turns towards them.

"All right, you've told me what he said and what you think. But how does this  _feel_  to you, Hopps…Wilde? What's your gut feeling? Is it worth following up?"

Nick Wilde doesn't hesitate for a nanosecond.

"He had me at,  _'It's my brother-in-law'_ , Chief. Selling out his family to save his own pelt? That's  _classic_  Duke Weaselton."

"It felt real to me too, sir." Judy nods, "After all, what does he gain if his information ISN'T any good? Even if we could have offered to let him walk, he isn't getting anything in  _advance."_

"Yesss," Bogo rumbles thoughtfully, "In fact, the judge would probably come down even harder on that burglary charge if it turned out our weasel led us up the garden path."

He slaps a hoof on his desktop, making several items jump.

"Right then, it's a go."

He points to each of them in turn.

"You two got the goods on that cash pickup—that was fine work by the way—and so I'm having you follow up on it. Get out to the Saturday Jam tomorrow and…"

Nick raises a paw like a kit that needs to go to the bathroom.

"Uh, Chief…I-I kind of had plans for tomo…"

"You HAD plans for tomorrow," Judy cuts him off. Sheesh, you'd think by now this fox would have figured out that police-work is _not_  a nine-to-five gig.

Bogo, for his part, looks at her as if to say,  _'Hey, that's MY line!'_  Then he says, "Take whatever resources and fursonell you need, find that drop and put a watch on it—and take down the Phantom."

Nick raises his paw again, but this time he has a valid point.

"Chief…Listen, I doubt very seriously that the Phantom makes his _own_ cash pickups. Everything I've heard so far tells me he's much too smart and way too cautious to take that kind of risk. Even if we make the bust, chances are we'll only get his bag-mammal."

"I'm aware of that, Wilde." Chief Bogo answers, drumming his fingers testily on the desktop, "But even that's a lot closer than we've come so far to putting this shylock away."

"Well as far as resources go, Chief." Judy is saying, "I'd like to have a portable surveillance set up with at least two cameras, three would be better, that way we can set up as close as possible to the pick-up location without it being seen."

"Done and done." The Cape Buffalo tells her, jotting a note on his tablet, "and who do you want for back up?"

She looks at Nick, "What do you think fox, Claire Swinton on the monitors?"

"No objection here," he says, "She's good."

'Right you've got her." Bogo says, "And who else?"

Judy sucks at one side of her mouth for second.

"Well there's always a decent sized police presence at the Saturday Jam anyway, so instead of bringing in extra officers, it'd probably be better to just alert everyone already on duty about what's going on"

"Gmrrrr yes, I think I see where you're coming from Carrots." Nick growls, "We don't want to bring  _too_  many extra bodies; it might tip off the Phantom that we're laying for him."

"Exactly, Nick." She says. "Or at the very least, make him postpone the exchange."

"All right then." Bogo slaps his knees and rises from his chair, "Go and have a meet with Swinton, and then collect the gear you need. I'll prepare a briefing for the other officers working the Jam. Soon as you're done, report back to me."

"Yes sir," the fox and bunny answer, also getting up.

On the mezzanine outside the Chief's office, Judy can't resist slipping her partner a small needle.

"'Plans', Nick? What exactly did you have going on tomorrow that's soooo important?"

Nick keeps his eyes straight ahead as he answers her.

"I…was planning to visit my mother. Finally got up the courage to go see her in furson…I-I think I did, anyway.

Judy winces and looks sideways; open mouth, 'A', insert foot, 'B'.

"I still can't believe you haven't talked you her since joining the police force." She says, looking for a way out.

She doesn't quite find it.

"Oh, I've _talked_  to her, Carrots." The red fox says, "On the phone, plenty of times…and I've seen her around here and there; I-I just haven't gone to  _visit_  her." He looks away for second, "It gets…awkward."

Judy's face becomes sympathetic.

"Because of back in the day, when you used to work the streets, Nick? You told me once that she was never happy with all of your hustling."

Nick rolls his lips and looks upwards for a second. "Well yes, that and…" he turns and looks straight at her. "And something that's kind of private…okay?"

"Okay, okay." She swiftly raises her paws. "I won't ask any more about it, Nick."

An uncomfortable silence follows, made all the more prickly when an alpaca in a skirt comes around the corner, pushing a file cart. When she notices who's with her on the concourse, she hurries past, giving Nick and Judy a wide berth and looking in every direction but theirs.

Judy groans and Nick steels himself for another tirade.

But this time, the bunny has something  _else_  on her mind.

"Ahhh, the Saturday Jam Nick," she sighs, throwing her arms skywards, "Why the  _heck_  did it have to be THERE?"

Nick regards her for a second, immensely grateful that she didn't get into _that_  subject again; nonetheless, he remains wary.

"Uhm, what's so bad about The Saturday Jam, Carrots? Actually…" he chews on his lip for a second, "What IS the Saturday Jam?"

Judy answers with a small shudder. "It's an open-mike karaoke event, held every Saturday at the Lionheart Amphitheater in Moosevelt Park. Anyone who wants to is welcome to come sing and/or play an instrument for the crowd."

Nick studies her closely for a second.

"Wha…? That doesn't sound so bad, Carrots."

Judy stops in her tracks and looks up at him with one eye halfway closed and the other one open wide; hey ear on that side is standing rigid as an oar.

"Seriously?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone whose taken the time to read The Fire Triangle. Now that things are beginning to pick up steam a little I would really like some reviews and/or feedback.
> 
> And thanks again
> 
> MercMarten


	6. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting the 'Fire' in Fire Triangle as the hunt for the Phantom begins.
> 
> Meanwhile another old acquaintance makes his return.

**Chapter 6**

_“You get the best of both worrrrlds_  
_Chill it out,_ tayyyke it slowwww  
_Then you rock out the…showwww!_

It’s backstage at the Saturday Jam with Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps.

The rear section of the Lionheart Amphitheater (which more than a few citizens think should undergo a name change) is a cavernous affair, lofty ceilings and solid concrete.  Though the stage may decorated in cheerful colors, back here everything is gray and utilitarian.  It might almost be the interior of a bunker, except for the soft sunlight, soaring spaces and pleasantly breezy air.

On the stage up above where the fox and rabbit are waiting, a thirteen-something black-tailed deer-girl is performing the old Hannah Montantelope signature tune, The Best of Both Worlds.

She’s quite the performer that young doe; she can literally sing like a bird.

A screech-owl that is…

_“You get the BE-HEST of both worlds_  
_Mix it all together_  
_And you know that it's the best of both whuh-horrrrrlds!”_

Nick is in a half crouch with eyes shut tight and paws clamped over folded ears.  Judy Hopps is almost ready to tie _her_ ears in a kerchief, (She would too, except then there’s the small matter of getting them _un_ -tied later.)

_“Still_ think it doesn’t sound so bad, fox?” She shouts at her partner over the so-called music.

_“You go to movie premi yeeeeers (was that Johnny Dapple?)_ _  
Hear your songs on the radiohhhh.”_

 Nick answers her by gritting his teeth in the direction of the stage.  “Got your trank-dart gun handy?  I want to borrow it for second.”

Judy goggles at the fox.

“Are you serious, Nick?”

“Not for her, for ME!” he answers, clamping his ears—and his jaws—even more tightly.

_“Yeeeeah, you get to be a small town girrrrrl_ _  
But big time when you play your guitah-HAAARRRR!”_

“Not! Funny!,” Judy tells him flatly, “and besides, I only have one dart loaded and I’m saving it for _myself!”_

“Hey there!”

Still covering their ears, Nick and Judy turn to see Officer Swinton approaching.  Behind her is raccoon in green coveralls, stamped with the logo: ‘Zootopia Parks and Rec.’.  He pushes a dolly stacked with utility cases.

_“Who would've thought that a girl like meeeee  
Would double as a super stahhh-ha-harrrr?”_

“A guy on the make…and that’s IT!” Nick shouts, showing his fangs at the stage once more.

“How the heck can you _stand_ this?” Judy shouts at Swinton.  The sow-cop seems bothered not at all by the cacophony

_“You get the best of both worrrlds!”_

By way of response, the pig femme flips back an ear, revealing a bud nestled snugly in place.

_“You get the best of both worrrrlds_  
_Without the shades and the haaaiiiir…”_

Judy Grimaces, and then groans.

“G’ohhhh, I should have brought _my_ iPaw!”  

* * *

On a quiet street, not far away, an SUV with dark-tinted windows pulls up in front of the Tux-On Tuxedo Shop.   The interior of the shop is as yet unlit and the sign in the window says, ‘CLOSED.’

After a short moment, two masked figures emerge from the vehicle.  Little of either is visible, except for their snouts, both of which feature short, backward-curving tusks, and noses that resemble electrical outlets; the distinctive muzzle of a wild boar. 

They move silently away from the SUV; seconds later, there’s the sound of breaking glass, followed by a hissing noise—and then footsteps running, and car-doors slamming.

When the SUV squeals away from the curb, Tux-On’s front window is shattered and thick, dark smoke is roiling from the opening.  A second later, a fire alarm clangs.

Too little, too late; the interior of the shop is already an inferno.

* * *

Back at the Jam, the wretched music finally ends with the young deer showered by a chorus of boos and derision.  A few seconds later, she comes bounding down the backstage ramp.   Judy turns out to be the first one she sees and she can’t help rushing over.

“Did you hear that?”  she gushes, “They LOVED me!”  

Judy rolls her eyes and Nick looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or bang his head against the wall

That’s when the deer girl finally notices the fox…and unfortunately for him and his partner, she’s not quite _that_ dense. 

“Wait, I know you, you’re the fox who kissed…and _you’re_ the bunny he…Ewwwww!”

She hurries away, throwing a disgusted look over her shoulder.

Nick offers Judy a look of contrition, but she won’t look at _him_ period.

(Officer Swinton seems to have just remembered that she’s needed elsewhere, ASAP.)

But then the fox’s ears prick up.  The deer girl is standing at a long row of lockers stacked against a cyclone fence.  As Nick watches, she removes a backpack from one of them.

He taps Judy on the shoulder.  She turns around fast, wearing an ‘all-foxes-must-die’ expression on her face.  Nick ignores it and points towards the lockers

“Any idea where those came from, Carrots?” 

Judy’s anger vanishes at once, replaced by a mixture confusion and curiosity.  What the heck does THAT have to do with the price of carrots in Meowria?

“This used to be a baseball field before it was converted to an outdoor theater a year ago.” She says, sweeping her paw in wide arc, “It’s where the ZSU team used to play before they finally got their own ball park.”  Her nose starts twitching, “Why?

Nick points up and above the row of lockers.  There, posted on the chain-link fence is a green and white sign:

**[SECTION**  ]  
**[G]**

Judy gets it immediately, “Whoa, and what’s the next letter after, ‘G’, Nick?”

“What…?  What’s going on?”

Swinton has just re-appeared behind them.

“Go start getting your gear unpacked,” Judy tells her, still staring at the letters on the wall. “I think we may have something shortly.”

“Okay,” the pig-cop says, and then goes over to the pile of carrying cases, stacked against a wall.   She’s still not sure what’s going on, but she’s willing to take it on faith.

Nick and Judy walk down to the lockers and give them a quick scan.   They’re big…much too large for smaller mammals such as themselves, but just right for say a black-tailed deer.  All of them have lattice-work fronts, allowing for at least a partial view of what’s inside. 

At the moment, all of them are empty.

“Right or left?” Nick asks Judy.  She’s been here before and he hasn’t.

The bunny cop can’t resist.

“What’s _this?”_ she teases, pulling her face into a look of mock-incredulity, “Why Nick, I thought you knew everything about this city.”

The fox turns his face away, pretending to mull his response.

“Was this place built after I stopped working the streets? Why yes…yes, it was.”

Judy laughs and throws up her paws in mock surrender. “Okayyyy, you got me.”

And then she grows serious, thumping her foot on the floor.

“To the…right I think.” She says, and the two of them head off down the concourse.

It runs out to be the correct choice; less than thirty feet later, they come to another bank of lockers.  This one’s parked opposite a concrete bay stacked with a jumble of discarded equipment; old signs, cast-off concession stands and the like.

The lockers here are also smaller than the ones in the first row…just the right size in fact, to accommodate a fox and/or bunny.

…or a weasel.

And on the fence up above, is another sign in green and white:

**[SECTION]**

**[H]**

“Three rows.”  Judy murmurs, “A, B, and C.” 

She goes to lockers and runs a finger across the length of the center section.

Then she stops and turns to her partner.

“Nick, come here, quick!”

The fox follows, and finds that her finger is resting on locker B-6  

“Row B, Section H, Locker 6.” She says, unable to resist a little smirk.

“Clever bunny.” Nick grins.

“Nuh-uh.” Judy shakes her head, and raps him on the shoulder, smiling, “ _You’re_ one who figured this one out, fox.  Oh, and by the way…”

She points, and Nick sees that this particular cubbyhole is secured with a lock, one of only three lockers that are so equipped.

Not only that, of the other two lockers, the first one is secured by a bargain-basement brass lock and the other is sporting an even cheaper-looking combination job.

Locker BH-6, on the other paw…

“Well, now I’ve seen everything,” Judy says, letting the gloss-black hexagon drop away from between her fingers, “A lock with a USB port instead of keyhole.”

“Same as that case Weaselton described.” Nick reminds her, “Can you see anything inside that locker?”

Judy tilts her head and puts her eye to the meshwork…and immediately raises a thumb.

“Bingo!   There’s our briefcase.” She squints her eye more tightly, “Can’t see any port or digital readout, I think it’s turned the wrong way.  But other than that it’s just like Weaselton described it, right down to the carbon fiber.”

She looks up at the fox.

“Come over here and take a sniff, Nick.”

Nick goes to the locker and presses his nose to the door…and immediately takes it away.

“Weasel.” He says, “Fresh, too.  Not more than a couple of hours old, I’d say.” He taps a pair of fingers just above the locker door. “This is it, Carrots; this is the Phantom’s cash pickup; it has to be.”

Judy slaps a fist into a pawlm, but then her expression turns cautious.

“If that’s our McGuffin, Nick, then we’d better get the heck away from here…before you-know-who spots us.”

“Right.” The fox agrees

Moving slowly, as if the locker might be booby-trapped, Nick and Judy step away from it and then hurry back down the corridor, the way they came.

When they return a minute later Claire Swinton is with them, along with the wolf-cops, Wolford and Grizzoli, brought here to serve as their lookouts.

While the pair of wolves position themselves, keeping their eyes and noses open, the other three officers go to work.  Everyone moves quickly; now is the critical time.  If the Phantom’s bag-mammal comes to collect the cash while they’re setting up the cameras, the whole thing will be worse than a wasted effort.  They’ll not only miss busting him, he’ll know his cover’s blown.

Swinton is the one directing traffic.

“Three cameras.” She says, pointing down the hallway, towards either end of the lockers, “wide-angle lens, there…and there, and then a zoom-lens camera directly across from the target.”

Nick asks her, “What about putting a camera in the locker just above this one, so we can get a good look at the perp’s face.

Swinton considers this for a second, and then shakes her head.

“I’d like to…but this Phantom of yours sounds like a pretty sharp cookie.  Put a surveillance cam in that location and he’s liable to see IT before we see _him.”_

“Or her,” Nick says and looks quickly at Judy, “We can’t rule out that possibility, Carrots.  No offense.”

“None taken,” she answers, and then crinkles her nose like an imp, “Heck, for all we know our perp could be another _fox.”_

Swinton sniggers and Nick looks heavenward with a ‘give me strength’ expression.

“All right, all right…touche, bunny-rabbit.”

“Hey can you guys hurry it up back there?” Wolford calls from his position, “The natives are getting restless.”  Before he’d been called to help out Nick and Judy, the timber wolf had been posted to the rear-gate, (where the animals here to perform enter.)  By now the line of mammals waiting for him to open up is nearly half a block long and growing steadily.

“We’ll be done in just minute.” Judy calls back to the wolf.

Claire Swinton nods as if in agreement here and lays a black plastic case on a concrete bench beside the lockers.   Flipping it open she reveals what at first glance appears to be collection of golf balls, all of them nestled in polyfoam.

Except…since when do golf balls have lenses, or come not only in white, but also in grey, black, and especially green?

“Okay, we need to hide these where they won’t be spotted so easily.” The pig cop tells the fox and bunny.

“Which of the white ones has the zoom lens?’ Nick Wilde asks her, pointing, “I see a good place to put that one right _now.”_

Swinton passes him the correct ‘golf-ball’, and Nick takes it to a derelict snow-cone machine parked opposite the bay of lockers.  Topping the roof of the now defunct concession-stand is a row of tiny snow-bunnies, all with carrot noses, a single buck tooth, and a thoroughly goofy expression.  He pulls up the head and torso of one of the tiny figurines, and then replaces the abdomen with the web cam. 

“Very good,” says Swinton approvingly, offering thumbs up.  She takes out and consults a tablet. “Okay tilt it down a little, little more, that’s good.  Okay now pan right…right.  No, too far, go back just a smidge…there, got it.”

She shows the tablet to Judy and yep, there’s the locker, smack dab in the center of the frame.

“Okay, now let’s get the other ones planted” Judy says.

They accomplish this in short order.  Swinton finds a place for one atop a ‘No Loitering’ sign, while Judy hides hers, (appropriately enough,) inside a dust-bunny in a corner of the ceiling.

“Okay, Wolford, we’re done.” She calls, “Go ahead and open up again.”

“About time.” Someone mutters.  (Judy can’t see the gate from where she’s standing, but she can hear the growing hubbub.  She can only hope the Phantom’s go-fer isn’t part of that crowd.)

While Wolford returns to his post, the others all head back to the stage entrance.

“I found a good place to set up the monitors,” Swinton tells them as they walk along, “There’s an office right next to the stage ramp, I think it used to be the umpire’s ready-room or something.”

Grizzoli’s voice comes from behind.

“So you really got lead on The Phantom?”

Judy nods over her shoulder, but slowly and very cautiously, “Eeee-yessss, but please don’t talk about it, okay?”

“Right you never know who’s listening.” Swinton concurs.

The arctic wolf pantomimes zipping his mouth shut. “Mum’s the word.”

As they get closer to the stage, the sound of a melody (if you can call it that) becomes audible; someone is covering the old Guns n’ Rodents tune, Sweet Kit O’ Mine…and making a total hash of it.

Judy groans out loud, “Oh, cheez n’ crackers…not _again.”_ (And this time it’s a song she LIKES _…_ even has it on her iPaw.)

Yes, again—but this time mercifully not for long; all at once the music ends in a flood-tide of boos and derision. A moment later a young raccoon comes stomping down the stage ramp, venting at no one in particular. 

“Jerks…Morons…Idiots…JERKS!””

“Hey watch your mouth, kid.” Grizzoli snarls as the angry ‘coon stalks past him… and the kid wisely ceases his chatter.

“Tough crowd.” Swinton observes.

“Oh that was nothing.” The wolf says, “We’re just lucky that raccoon-kid went into meltdown AFTER he came offstage.  At least twice before when Wolford and me worked here, we nearly had a riot when some Bibberty-kid went off on the audience.”

“Bibberty?”  Nick Wilde raises an ear and an eyebrow. 

_“Dang, am I_ that _far out of the loop?”_ He wonders.

“Yeah, you know,” Grizzoli is saying, “Bibberty, Bobbity, Boo….poof, you’re a princess…or a prince.”  He aims a thumb in the direction of the audience.  “It’s what the crowd here calls a guy who thinks a spendy instrument will make him an instant guitar god…or a girl who thinks that if she dresses like Gazelle she can _sing_ like Gazelle.”

Nick nods, but then Judy nudges him hard with an elbow and points almost frantically down the stage ramp.  The fox follows her finger…and then his ears fall back and mouth unhinges.

“Whoa, speak of the diva,” mutters.

Yep, there she is, the lady herself, coming through the back gate, with a pair of her tigers trailing close behind.

Noting Nick and Judy’s reaction, Grizzoli’s tail begins to wag

“Oh Gazelle’s here all the time,” he says, waving a breezy paw, “And why not?  She put up most of the money to have this place renovated.  The city council even wanted to rename it for her…but she declined and so now it’s the Lionfart’s Amphitheater.  Sometimes when she visits she’ll even perform a song or two—but even when she’s just here to watch, she never comes in by the front gate, it’s always through the back.  Doesn’t want to steal the attention away from whoever’s on stage, or that’s what she…”  Suddenly, his ears prick up, “Uh-oh.”

This time Nick and Judy don’t have to look, they can already see it for themselves….and also hear it; a scuffle has broken out down by the rear entrance, and Wolford is blowing his whistle.

Grizzoli immediately howls in response, but quickly stops himself.

“Aggggh, grrrr…I HATE when that happens.” He gives his head a slap and hurries away to assist his partner.   Meanwhile the confrontation seems to be escalating and Nick and Judy quickly decide to offer their support. 

But halfway to the gate, Nick suddenly realizes...

“Oh no, the cameras aren’t hooked up to the monitors yet.  Carrots, you better go keep an eye on that locker; our guy may decide to move now while everyone’s distracted.”

‘You think?” Judy says, slowing down and starting to turn.

_“I_ would.” The former street-fox answers and that’s all the bunny-cop needs to hear.  She wheels away and bounds on down the concourse leading to the money-locker.

_“Hrm,”_ Nick ponders, as he sprints in the direction of the commotion by the back gate, _“Maybe I HAVEN’T lost my edge as much as I thought.”_

Maybe, but in any case it’s a wasted effort; by the time he reaches the gate, it’s all over but the shouting…and even that’s been considerably tone downed.  Nick is just about to turn back when stops and lifts his nose, scenting the air.  What the…?  Can that be…?

It is.  In front of the gate, two large animals are standing with their backs to the fox, speaking to Wolford and Grizzoli.  Though Nick can’t see their faces, there’s no mistaking their species. The first one has a mane and black-and white stripes and his bud has a pair of the ‘mustache’ horns crowning his head.

It’s a zebra and a gnu; high school kids by the look of them…and also gangsta wannabees, judging by the backwards-turned baseball caps and pants worn at half-mast.  Both of them have a flat, rectangular box tucked tightly under an elbow.

But it’s not _these_ two that have caught Nick’s attention; it’s the animal on the other end of the argument.   He can’t see who it is with Wolford in the way…but his keen sense of smell has already taken up the slack.

“Get lost shrimp, this is OUR swag.” The zebra is saying.  He pulls the box from beneath his arm, waving it like a tambourine. “What kind of lies you tryin’ to push here, huh?”

 “Those are MINE.” A deep bass voice protests, speaking to Wolford and Grizzoli, “These punks grabbed ‘em off my ride and ran back here, I HEARD ‘em.”

Officer Wolford takes a small step sideways, just far enough for Nick to see the speaker.

Finnick is standing with his arms folded and his teeth bared.  No sleepers and pacifier for the fennec fox now; instead he’s sporting his famous black shirt with the red stripe.  And lying on the ground in front of him, is another one of his trademarks…a sawed-off baseball bat. 

(Having once been Finnick’s partner, Nick knows that he got rid of it even before he was told, most likely before either of the wolf-cops even _saw_ it.)

_“Heard_ us take it!” the zebra kid lets out short, derisive bray and looks at his partner, “Can you believe this fox, homes?”

“Like you can believe anything a _fox_ says, dude,” The gnu sneers, reaching out to give stripes a hoof bump.   He looks at Wolford, “Come on wolf, you really gonna take the word of THIS guy over us?”

“Oh for sure,” says a voice from behind him, “Everyone knows that _all_ foxes lie like rugs.”

“What he said,” the zebra nods, poking a thumb over his shoulder, “I never met a fox in my life that wasn’t a dishonest dirt-bag.”

You got that right,” the voice to the rear agrees.

“No kidding,” the Gnu bugles, “Species don’t come any lower than foxes.”

“Absolutely,” the animal behind him concurs, “Every single one of is a shifty and dishonest crook.”

“Yeah!” says the zebra.

“Right on!” Says the gnu…right before his face does a swan-dive, “Every single one…of… _us_ …?”

Slack-jawed and trembling the pair of posers turn slowly around; figurines on a wind-up clock.

There, in front of them Nick Wilde, mirrored sunglasses and folded arms--a grin that could stretch across a freeway.

“Welllll now, is there anything _else_ you boys would like to put in your mouths while they’re open?”

(Behind the pair, Finnick is laughing like a tuba section.)

In a lightning-quick move, Nick snatches the zebra’s box away and sniffs at it.  He then tosses it to Grizzoli who also gives it the once over with his nose.

The fox and wolf exchange knowing nods, and then Grizzoli goes over and returns the box to Finnick.

The little fox takes it while directing an angry snarl at Stripes.  At the same time, Wolford waves two fingers at the zebra’s partner.

“You too…give it up.”

The gnu hands over the box he took with a look of ‘I-didn’t-do-nothin’’ on his face.

And then it’s Nick Wilde’s turn.

“All right, both of you assume the position.” He speaks the words with his neck fur bristling; no more Mr. Nice Fox.

The pair of would-be gangers stand numb-to-the world for a second.

 “NOW!”  Nick snarls, showing his fangs…and the gnu and the zebra turn and meekly comply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read The Fire Triangle. Now that things are beginning to pick up steam a little I would really like some reviews and/or feedback.
> 
> And thanks again
> 
> MercMarten
> 
> The Prologue to this story can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11620323/chapters/26127297


	7. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick mends fences with Finnick, and then...remember that fox-kid from the Prologue?

** Chapter 7 **

"For crying out loud, what's  _wrong_  with you Finnick?"

Nick Wilde is following along behind his former partner, arms spread at 4 and 6; his face is a study in perplexity.

The desert fox stops and spins in his tracks, nearly dropping one of the boxes he's carrying; (cartons way too big for someone his size to handle.)

"What's WRONG with me?" he says, glaring at Nick over the top of a box, "You avoid me like rabies for almost two years, won't return my phone calls, never answer my texts, ignore my e-mails, and now you wanna be friends again, just like  _nothing's_  different?" He lifts his up his muzzle by an inch-and-a-half, "And if you call me, 'Mini-Me'  _one more time_...!"

Nick raises his paws.

"Okay, okayyyy. I'm sorry Finnick…really. Here, let me help you with those."

"No thanks, I got this." The fennec replies and pivots a 180...sending the top box flying. Nick Wilde moves like a quick red fox and catches it only centimeters shy of a puddle.

"All right, maybe a _little_  help," Finnick grumbles and toddles on his way with his former partner still following close behind. Coming around a tree they spot the fennec-fox's van, parked in a long, grassy meadow flanked by a low wooden fence. Every third post is tagged with a sign reading, 'Dealer's Row.'

Right away Nick notices something, "Hey you got the driver's side door re-painted."

Yes he did; at long last artwork on the door is a match for the rest of the van.

"How'd you get that door fixed anyway?" the red fox asks. He's talking about the paint job but Finnick mistakes it for something else and gives Nick a jaundiced eye.

"That's what I love about you Nicky; you never forget a favor…that YOU did."

But then he stops and lets out a yip of dismay.

Wha…? What's wrong?" the bigger fox asks.

Finnick tries to face palm himself, and nearly drops the other carton.

"Agggg, grrrr, what was I THINKING? I up and left my van wide open  _with nobody watching it!_

He tosses the box to Nick and bolts for his ride. Nick snatches it out of the air, and then he's hurrying after the fennec at full tilt, half worried and half amused.

_"Same old Finnick; act first, think later."_

When they come around the other side of the van, the side door is open and the awning is deployed. A quartet of picnic tables forms a perimeter beneath the shade.

At the furthest one away, a small, dark figure is sitting with his back to the pair of foxes, tuning up on an electric guitar.

Nick starts to raise a paw, but checks it when Finnick tugs his elbow.

"It's okay…I know him." He says, and then, "Whoa, am I glad to see  _you_ , kid."

The guitar player sets down his instrument and turns in his chair to the fennec.

"Hey no problem, DF."

Conor Lewis (Formerly Dylan Yeats) has gone through a sea-change in the years since his arrival in Zootopia; for starters, he's grown several inches and put on some sinew. He also dresses way differently than back in Zoo York, cargo pants, a t-shirt decorated with a Celtic knot, a vest of many pockets, a Moroccan scarf wound twice around his neck, and crowning his head, a 'Mewsies' apple-cap with a pair of rainbow-mirrored sport shades perched over the brim.

When he sees that Finnick is in company with a police officer, he coolly slips the sunglass over his eyes…a move not missed by Nick Wilde.

The red-fox sniffs, frowns slightly, sniffs again.

And then lays the two boxes on the table-top, glancing sideways at Finnick with one eyebrow arcing higher than the other.

"DF?"

"DF…Desert Fox," the fennec explains, fanning a pawlm back and forth

"Oh," Nick answers, trying to sound off-paw. He had assumed DF was a derisive nickname (like some of the ones HE'S bestowed on Finnick over the years.)

In spite of the red fox's discomfort, (or perhaps because of it,) Finnick makes haste to introduce the pair.

"Conor, this is my old partner I told you about, Nick Wilde. Nick, this is Conor, Conor Lewis."

"Nice to meet you son," Nick tells him. In response, Conor's tail seems to stiffen, becoming an instant bottle brush.

 _"Now what the heck did_ **I** _just say?"_  the older fox wonders, extending a paw nonetheless.

Conor takes it in an almost lifeless grip…but with a strong undercurrent of strength behind it. Nick arches a second eyebrow. This kid is no poser; try serious guitar player.

 _"You're surprised?"_  a half forgotten voice echoes in his head,  _"You shouldn't be, Nick. ALL the real axe players have a grip like…GO AWAY!"_

The voice beats a hasty retreat and Nick becomes aware of another one—Conor's.

"Hey, nice meeting you too, big guy," he says, in a voice empty of warmth…or hostility…or _any_ kind of emotion, truth be told.

Nick isn't bothered by this anymore than by the fact that the youngster is keeping his eyes hidden. Foxes are a naturally wary species, especially in the presence of a peace officer. (When the world tends to write you off as shifty and untrustworthy, it comes with the territory.)

His musings are interrupted when the silver fox speaks up again, this time talking to Finnick.

"What the heck happened, DF? Where'd you run off to like that?"

The fennec-fox's reaction to this makes Nick want to phone in a miracle; Finnick…looking  _embarrassed?_

"Yeah, well…" The fennec fox shuffles one foot behind the other, "These two guys grabbed some boxes and took off on me and…and I-I guess I just got sorta lost my head."

Conor says nothing to this, but even behind those rainbow-wraparounds, there's no mistaking the rebuke in his gaze. Watching him, Nick has to agree. It's the oldest set-up in the book, make a quick grab off a vendor's stall and while he's off chasing you, your partner moves in and makes the  _real_  score. At least once, back in the day, he saw Finnick nearly cleaned out by that gag.

Act first, think later.

"Hmmm," Conor is saying, "Maybe you better hold off setting up until I get done onstage, DF. Then I can come help keep an eye on things, okay?"

"Works for me," Finnick says, brightly. "So you signed up to play today, kid?"

By way of response, Conor raises the guitar he was working on—causing Nick Wilde's ears and eyebrows to lift themselves upwards as well.

This fox-kid looks like he's a middle-school student, starting high school at the oldest.

So what the heck is  _he_  doing with a guitar like THAT?

It's a double-neck instrument and a real beauty; six strings on one side, twelve on the other, with a lustrous top in deep, red mahogany. Throw in a pair of Macassar necks and some gold hardware, and this is hardly the kind of guitar you'd expect to see in the paws of a novice player—much less a kid two years away from his learners permit, (if  _that_  close!)

The look on Nick's face is not lost on his former partner…who quickly intervenes.

"Built it himself, in case you're wondering," he says.

Conor looks pained.

"How many times have I gotta say it Finnick? I didn't building it myself, I only  _helped."_

He looks over at Nick, hefting the guitar once again, "I got an after-school apprenticeship over at Peace Rock Guitar Co-Operative. Took almost a year and a half to finish this bad boy; I was only allowed to work on it after I got my other stuff done...and really, all I did was pass the tools."

"Nice work," Nick says, still a little nonplussed. That still doesn't explain how the kid ended up _owning_  this guitar.

A short awkward silence follows, quickly filled in by the younger fox.

"Listen Finnick, okay if I snag a coupla boxes of those shirts before I book? I got an idea."

To Nick Wilde's considerable surprise, Finnick looks as if he's just been asked a question somewhere on the order of, "Which kind of animal lives in a bat-cave?"

"Yeah kid, you know it's all good," the fennec-fox answers, rolling a paw and halfway rolling his eyes.

With the swiftness for which foxes have long been noted, Conor scampers through the open door of the van returning in mere microseconds with a box tucked under each arm.

"I'll letcha know how it works out, DF." He tells the fennec, then stows the boxes, along with his guitar in a bike trailer.

(A trailer hooked up to a Bolt Axiom park bike, Nick Wilde notes with his head tilting sideways)

"Good deal.' Finnick answers, offering a thumbs up. Conor shoots one back and then jams on a pedal and wheels away.

A moment later, Nick is staring after the young silver fox, stroking his chin, deep in thought.

His and Judy's first assignment (after busting Flash for street racing) had been taking down a ring of bike thieves. Nick had learned a lot from that collar…and he'd already known a lot going in.

Among the other tidbits he'd picked up is the fact that Bolts are the hottest park-bikes out there…and the Axiom is their top-of-the-line model; paw-built and primo components. Usually it shows up in X-treme 'neon-candy' colors—but not the one he's watching move away in the direction of the Lionheart Amphitheater. THIS bike is done up in plain, vanilla white with 'Axiom' printed on the top tube in simple black letters. Heck, if it hadn't been for the lightning slash on the down tube, Nick never would have recognized it as a Bolt.

You'd think a kid with a ride like that would want to show it off, right?

And then there's Conor's accent…definitely east coast, but where exactly? Zoo York? Noooo, not quite right for Zoo York, and not quite right for Pawston either.

Pawston…Zoo York…and right in between them there's—noooo, he does  _not_  want to think about THAT right now. Once is enough for one day.

And besides, Finnick is looking at him with a curious expression. Whoops…but luckily, Nick has an out up his sleeve.

"So what's the score, Finnick?" he asks, waving paw over a tabletop…and drawing a grin from the fennec-fox.

'Score'…as Chief Bogo noted recently, you can take the fox off the street, but…

"Gazelle Japanese tour shirts." The little fennec answers, hopping up on an orange crate and tapping at one of the boxes with a finger.

In response, Nick raises a single, curious ear.

"Gazelle…Japanese…tour…shirts." He says, repeating the words with cadenced precision, as if reciting a lesson in a second-language class. "You mean with Japanese lettering and everything?"

"Yeah," Finnick answers, "extras from a production overrun. On her last tour of Japan, Gazelle's manager messed up and ordered something like twice what they needed. Her mammals tried their best to unload 'em all, but even as popular as Gazelle is over there, they couldn't make it work; all the unsold shirts have been sitting in a Zao City warehouse ever since. We managed to get them to let go of a block, see if maybe they'd sell here in Zootopia."

Nick's head angles over to one side again, the quintessential curious fox.

"Okay, yeah…but why would anyone in Zootopia want to buy a  _Japanese_  tour shirt…even a Gazelle shirt?"

A long, slow grin wraps its way around Finnick's muzzle.

"The artwork, Nick. C'mere and see for yourself."

With the flourish of a stage magician, the fennec-fox pops the lid off the nearest box and pulls out a t-shirt, flapping it in the air as if preparing to hang it on a line. It's a large-mammal shirt, as big as bedsheet in comparison to the fennec, but Nick Wilde doesn't notice; one look at the shirt-front and, everything is made instantly clear.

He lets out a low whistle.

"Whoa, I see what you mean, big guy. You'd be a walking museum in one of these."

Yes you would; the art on the t-shirt nothing short of breathtaking.

In the center of the tee, Gazelle is depicted as a Ninja princess…with her four tigers, placed one at a corner, done up as samurai warriors, each one brandishing a different weapon. The colors are vivid, the detail amazing, the work of a master Manga artist.

But then Nick frowns…and now it's Finnick tilting his head sideways.

"All right what?" he asks.

Nick points at one of the tigers.

"Nothing…it's just that, WHY do all these Japanese comic artists draw everyone with _five_  fingers?"

Finnick throws back his head and laughs…the deep, chesty thundering that Nick Wilde knows so well.

"No idea, Nick," He says…and just like that, the last shard of ice breaks away. Nick smiles, pleased with himself. Finnick never could stay mad at him for long.

But then the red fox frowns again, and this time it's not forced.

"Forgive me Finnick, but I have to ask. Is all this on the up-and-up?"

He halfway braces himself, as if expecting his old partner to take offense at the question, but Finnick just smiles.

"Same old Nick, always talking like an old movie when you got something to say that's hard to get out; naw, no worries, it's all good. We've got a dealer's license, we got the import paperwork, we even got a letter from the lady herself, givin' us the okay to make the sale." He taps the box again, "And these things go like hotcakes with the tween-to-teen crowd…girls especially; they love anything Manga, and they REALLY love Gazelle. You put those things together and you better look out and stand back. At the Meerkat Market last Saturday we were sold out before noon."

Nick's ears go up and point at each one other. Something  _else_  has just registered for the first time; Finnick didn't say 'I', he said…

"'We'? Wait a minute, who the heck is, 'we'?"

For the second time in less than an hour, the fennec fox seems to wilt with embarrassment.

"We is me and my new partner, Nick." He's, unable to meet the red-fox's gaze. "You know how it is, I was never very good at working solo…and I don't LIKE starving, so…"

Nick hurriedly raises his paws.

"Hey, hey, take it easy Finnick I'm not bothered, I understand. But who  _is_  this new partner of yours? I'd like to meet him."

That's as far as Nick gets before his ears turn sideways. In the blink of an eye, Finnick has gone from shamefaced to nearly laughing his tail off.

"All right, mind letting me in on the joke, little toot-toot?" He asks. Nick knows he shouldn't use that name, but it irks him when Finnick gets like this.

"Don't call me that, and you already met him." The desert fox is no longer laughing, but he's still bursting with amusement.

Nicks ears swivel upright and point at each other.

"Wha…? When?

"Just now." The fennec fox says, and that's _all_  he says.

Ahhh, there's nothing like a little ear exercise in the morning; now Nick's ears are pulling sideways once again. It REALLY irks him when Finnick plays verbal Rubik's Cube.

"What do you mean, 'just now'? I haven't met anyone since…"

And then it hits him.

"Wait a minute," Nick says, pointing in the direction of the amphitheater, "You mean that Conor kid…HE'S your new partner?"

Finnick just nods and now  _Nick_  is the one overflowing with glee. He clutches his midsection, shivering with choked laughter.

"Oh my Gawrsh, big guy…I'm not surprised you ended up with a new partner, but I never thought you'd be  _that_  hard up. What is he anyway, thirteen…maybe fourteen?"

Nick's laughter spikes and he nearly doubles over…while Finnick just watches with folded arms and a cool expression.

"I dunno Nick, twelve I think…I'm not sure. We have a deal, Conor and me. When we're not working together, he stays out of my business and I stay out of his. I got no idea who his parents are or where he lives…heck, I don't even know what district he lives in." He narrows an eye widens the other one, "What I do know is that I wouldn't be so full of myself right now if I was you."

He demonstrates by waving a paw in a wide sweep, "This deal with the shirts? I've come up with more'm my share of scores, but this one's on Conor; he found 'em and he's the one talked Gazelle's manager into letting us have them. I did all the customs paperwork yeah, and made all the shipping arrangements, but  _he's_ the one who printed up all the banners and flyers and reserved a space for us--both here and at the Meerkat Market last week. today and last week; he even put up most of the money, when I came up a little short. Really, if you want the truth, this could never have happened without him."

All the mirth quickly vanishes from Nick Wilde's face.

"Okay, yeah…that's impressive." He settles down to scratch at an ear with his hind leg, "I have to wonder though…how come I never encountered this kid back in the day when I was working the streets. I thought I knew everybody."

Finnick pulls at the bridge of his muzzle.

"Yeah, I kinda wondered where Conor came from the first time I met him too. It was while you was going to the Police Academy, Nick. I was short on cash and so I decided to try the pawpsicle hustle, all by myself." He shakes his head, "Bad move; I managed to get hold of a Jumbo Pawp okay, but after that…"

After that, when Finnick had set up shop at their old spot in front of the Lemming National Bank, everything seemed to be going hunky-dory…at first. But when the clock in the plaza chimed 5 o'clock and the bank employees came trundling out the door, they had walked right by the pawpsicle stand without even so much as a sideways glance.

"It was like I'd become the invisible fennec, Nick." Finnick is saying, "no one would even look at me."

In desperation the little desert fox had launched into their old pitch, "Pawpsicles! Get your pawpsicles."

"Didn't work," he says, "Shoulda known that it wouldn't, with a voice like I got. The lemmings not only didn't stop, a few of 'em even shied  _away_  from me. Whoa, I didn't know _what_  to do; it was hot out that day, and any second the pawps were gonna start melting on me. But then…"

But then a young silver fox had come along, toting an acoustic six-string and parked himself on the bench next to where Finnick was working.

The desert fox had immediately bristled.

"Hey kid, buzz off.  _I'm_  workin' this side of the square."

Paying the fennec no more mind than the lemmings had done, Conor had twisted a tuning peg on his guitar and settled down to play a rollicking take on the old Van Howlen cover tune, 'Ice Cream Mammal'.'

And something amazing had happened.

"The lemmings not only came back Nick." Finnick says, shaking his head at the memory, "They came  _flocking_  back—and a whole bunch of other species too. Before I knew it, I was all sold out. Whoa, I couldn't believe it."

And when it was over and the fennec was counting his cash, he had looked over and seen that the silver fox was still there, watching him.

"You want a cut kid, is that it?" Finnick had asked, showing half a fang.

Conor had calmly shaken his head. "Nope, that's your score, babe…but if you're interested, I got something else lined up for this weekend."

"That was how it started," Finnick is telling Nick, "And we been working together ever since." He nods over at the driver's door of his van, "and as you can see, it's been a pretty decent partnership. I even got myself an apartment now. Nothing tony, but it sure beats living out of my ride. Oh and I finally got that engine replaced too. Conor found it for me on Stagslist. Found the guy who repainted my door, too. If there's one thing he's good at-beside playing guitar-it's how work the net"

Nick's mouth pulls backwards into a hard, flat, fox-grimace. Dangit, how DID this young silver-fox manage to stay off his radar screen for so long?

It's not often you see Finnick get the wrong read on his old partner, but that's what happens here (jealous much?) and he's enjoying every second of it.

"Not bad for a kid huh, Nick? But let me tell you, he won't get involved in nothin' dirty…not at all, period. Every time I go to him with an idea the first question he asks is always, 'Is this legit?'"

In response, Nick feels the breath flowing out of him in a long, cool rivulet. Once again Finnick can't help but notice, only this time that may have been the red fox's general idea.

"Tell me the truth Nick," He says, nodding towards the pair of boxes lying on the tabletop, "if you HAD found out that this score was illegal…would you have busted me?"

Nick swiftly turns his face away, a weathervane caught in a sudden gust of wind.

"Please don't ask me that," he says, his voice a near-mumble.

Finnick's face softens a little, touched by what the red fox just told him. It explains lot…a whole lot, actually. And it also confirms at least one of the fennec's suspicions.

"Is  _that_  why you been keeping your distance from me, Nicholas?" he asks quietly, "because you didn't want to take a chance on maybe having to haul me in?"

Nick's mouth goes in several directions at once…and so do his ears.

"Yes…no, okay that's part of it. But the main reason is, I wanted to make a clean break from working the street. When I was accepted to the Police Academy, I made a promise to myself. If I was going to be police officer, then I was going all in…no looking back and no more hustles. That part of my life is over, once and for all."

Finnick looks at Nick, looks away for a second, and then looks at him straight. It's a face the red-fox has seen before; Finnick has something to say, but doesn't quite know how to say it.

Then all at once he realizes—and almost gives himself a face-pawlm.

The surveillance-cam video of him and Judy Hopps; Finnick must have seen it too.  _That's_  what this is all about.

No such luck. What the desert fox says instead is like a cold shaft through the red fox's heart

"You know…you made that promise once before, Nick."

Nick's ears  _slam_  sideways and his neck fur spikes into quills...and then his lip curls upwards, revealing a fang.

"DON'T go there, Finnick!"

"Does she know about Wild Times, Nicky?" the desert fox asks, inclining his head ever-so-subtly in the direction of the Lionheart Amphitheater.

Now  _both_  of Nick's fangs are showing.

"Hey, what did I JUST say, little toot-toot?"

Finnick ignores the jab, instead just wearily shaking his head.

"You know Nick, I'll never understand something; after all your put-downs, after all the 'no kiss for daddy' jokes, I still think of you as a friend, and I'm  _telling_  you as friend, don't make the same mistake twice. Don't end up wishing you'd come clean when you had the chance… _again!_  Judy Hopps is a good lady and she thinks the world of you, Nick. I saw it that time when she came back from Bunnyburrows looking for you. She'll understand, and not just about Wild Times…"

Now ALL of Nick's teeth are showing, and his eyes are like blazing torches...it's almost as if he's been hit with a Nighthowler dart

"You say one word to her about Robyn, and I'll bite YOUR face off!"

Finnick doesn't back away, instead baring his own teeth as the tension seems to crackle in the air between them.

But then hallelujah, something else crackles—Nick's radio, and the situation is defused, at least for the moment. He lets out a growl to show he means business and pulls the walkie-talkie from his belt.

Speak of the bunny, it's Judy Hopps…and she's  _not_  happy.

"Hopps to Wilde….Hopps to Wilde. Nick, are you there? What the heck, where ARE you? Over."

"Sorry Carrots," he answers, relieved rather than ashamed; an excuse to get away from Finnick and all his talk about old wounds? Ohhh, thank heaven!

"I, errr got kind of tied up," he says, "Over."

Judy responds by assuming a tone that Nick knows all too well, her patented, 'I don't-want-to-hear-it' voice, "Never mind fox, just get BACK here. Hopps out."

Nick rapidly holsters the walkie-talkie.

"Sorry Finnick, duty calls and all that." From the timbre of his voice, the two of them might have been discussing their favorite movies instead of coming that close to going at it, tooth and claw.

Finnick swallows and throws a Hail Mary…finally bringing 'it' up.

"I seen that video of you and Hopps, the one from the jewelry store." His voice is a plea, not a taunt, "but I saw something else too…"

It's no good; Nick is already walking away.

Finnick cups his paws to his muzzle and calls after him.

"Don't do it Nicky, don't blow it again!"

The red fox just continues on his way, hearing nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Virginia, there IS a way to bring Wild Times into the story line without the shock collars.


	8. The Fire Triangle--Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart to heart and then, uhhhh, WHAT'S it called again, Sweetheart? Nick and Judy have a serious talk, and then Conor Lewis shows that he's got a few skillz of his own.

**Chapter 9**

"I don't care  _how_  long it's been since you last saw him, Nick. You're here to do a job not to socialize or to sight-see."

Nick Wilde stands with his paws clasped and his tail curling upwards between his knees. There's only one thing he can do when Judy climbs up into her high dudgeon like this, play the 'sorry-little-fox-cub'.

"I know Carrots, I know." He says, raising a paw with the thumb tucked over the fingers and putting the other one over his heart, "I'll stay at my post from now on, I promise."

"Well, all right," Judy starts to say, but then a wild cheer erupts from the crowd and a split second later, officer Grizzoli comes hurrying down the stage ramp, half out of breath.

"Hey you guys, Gazelle's going to sing!"

"Wow, really?" Judy says, and scoots up the ramp in the white wolf's wake, leaving certain a red fox mumbling a mantra under his breath.

"We're here to do a  _job_ , Nick…we're here to do a JOB, Nick…"

The meme comes to a quick halt when he hears Gazelle call a greeting to the audience, while in the background, other voices shout out song requests.

"I'll Stand By You!"

"Try Everything!"

"The Hips Don't Lie!"

"She Wolf!"

"TRY EVERYTHING!"

Gazelle lets it go on for few seconds, and then throws back her hair and give her head a little shake.

"Noooo, I think I have another idea for today." She glances off to her right for just a second, "…a little note of caution for anyone hoping to break into the music business."

She gives her hip a toss, and then nods offstage, in the direction of the sound engineer.

The audience bursts into more applause at sound of the familiar opening, a Latino yodel, backed up a by a Spanish guitar.

 _"La la la la la lei_  
La la lei  
La la la la la la lei  
La la lei"

From there the music breaks into curious mix of techno and retro, a pulsing electronic beat overlaid by a twangy electric guitar that sounds like early 60's maybe 1950's vintage.

Down by the stage-ramp, Nick Wilde feels his ears prick up. That's odd…he naturally expected Gazelle's background music would be canned, and mostly it is— _except_  for the electric six; that one's a LIVE instrument.

 _"Okay, but who's_ playing _it?"_  the red fox wonders,  _"I didn't see any of Gazelle's band come in with her, only a couple of her tigers, and they don't play—they dance. Hmmmm, maybe she invited one of the other animals waiting to go on to join her?"_

Nick pulls at his chin, lost in thought. Well that would certainly fit in with Gazelle's generous reputation, ever the champion of the young artist…but who's the lucky side-mammal? He would love to go sneak a look, but even this fox isn't about to go wandering off and leave _nobody_  minding the store, (especially after Judy just treated him to a few selected readings from the Riot Act.)

Nick thinks for a second, remembering… Could it be…?

"Naaaah." He says, shaking his head.

Meanwhile Gazelle has started in on the first verse.

_"Why do all my friends...?"_

Nick leans back against a concrete pillar with his arms folded; okay, maybe he can't go and WATCH Gazelle perform, but there's no ruled against him  _listening._

The door behind him opens and Officer Swinton sticks her head out.

"Where's Hopps?" She asks, looking around bewildered.

"Watching the show," Nick answers, nodding upwards towards the stage…and also suppressing a sly grin. Sauce for the bunny—yes!

"Well then, _you_  want to come in here and help me keep an eye on things?" the pig-cop says, hiding her annoyance, "If I were the The Phantom this is _exactly_ when I'd move on that locker…while everyone else is watching Gazelle."

All at once, Nick forgets his amusement; Swinton's right, and he knows it.

He hurries inside the office.

The whole thing turns out to be a complete waste of time; all through the rest of Gazelle's performance, nobody even so much as strolls past locker BH-6, much less stops there.

Nick waits until the (thunderous) applause dies down before going back outside again. He exits just in time to see Gazelle coming back down the stage ramp.

And…what the…? Right behind her is…Christmas in July, it's that Conor kid. And as if to make sure there's no mistake here, he's toting a guitar, not nearly as nice as the other one he had, but still no cigar-box special.

That's when Nick sees something else; are those two having a  _conversation_? He swivels his ears in their direction. Though his hearing isn't  _quite_  as sharp as Judy's it will serve on this occasion.

"So the shirts are selling well?" the pop-star is asking.

"Can't keep 'em in the boxes, Miss Gazelle," the young fox answers. "You definitely want to put the rest up for sale in your web-store."

In response, she strokes pensively at a horn

"Hmmm, I will mention that to Hector. Thanks/."

"Hey no problem," the young fox says, "but uh, as long as I got you here, I uh, brought a couple of boxes of those shirts backstage with me. Would you mind autographing a couple?"

"I'll do better than that," Gazelle says…and then before the singer can say what she means Judy's voice breaks in.

"Anything happening over by the lockers?"

Nick turns and tries to answer her, but then a third voice interrupts _._

"Just what the heck did you think you were doing, taking off like that, Hopps?" Officer Swinton is sticking her head out the door again. "You're supposed to be here on the job, not sightseeing."

Judy looks around as if searching for a bolt-hole. "Uh right…sorry, Officer Swinton. I won't make the same mistake again." She forces her eyes to meet the sow's, "Was there anything…?"

"I'd have told you already if there was." The pig cop answers, "But keep it together will you? There's no way whoever's coming to pick up that case is going to leave it here overnight; that's just  _begging_  to have it stolen."

As soon as she's gone the bunny-cop lets out a long, long sigh and then glances to her right.

Nick Wilde stands with the immovable expression of a Sphinx…with maybe just a touch of Meowna Lisa thrown in.

Judy is just about to turn away when he blurts out suddenly, "Ididn'tsayanything!"

The next thing he says is, "Ow!"

"Oh, cut it out you big baby, I didn't kick you  _that_  hard."

Judy shakes her head and then throws up her paws in surrender. "Okayyy, point taken Mr. Fox-Kettle, I've been a bad little Bunny-Pot."

Nick laughs and stops pretending to rub his shin with his foot, but then Judy turns full-on serious. She hops up low, concrete wall, taking a seat and inviting her partner to do the same.

"I know I've been a hard case lately, Nick—no, don't raise your paws at me like that, yes I have, but…" She looks around for a second as if the word she's searching is drifting in the air somewhere.

Then she looks at him again.

"Nick…we're _that_  close to finally making detective, you and I both; we've done the core work, completed an undercover assignment, and have you seen our test grades yet? (She knows he has but wants to hear him say it.)

"I have," Nick nods, leaving a great deal unsaid. While he didn't exactly squeak through the exams by the skin of his teeth, Judy Hopps's scores were the highest in the history of the ZPD.

But that's not the point she's trying to make.

"That's right fox; we've worked out tails off to get this far, both of us. But all it would take to ruin everything would be to mess-up on just one assignment." She looks at him with her nose twitching. "Do you understand?"

Nick responds with a look of righteous mortification.

"Carrots, what the HECK? You know I'd _never_ do anything to hurt your chances at making detective." To drive home the point he crosses his heart.

Judy only nods at him with those big earnest eyes.

"Yes, I know that Nick. But you might wreck  _your_ own chances if you're in the wrong place when an arrest is about to happen." She reaches for his paw; he pulls back, but she takes it anyway.

"And if  _that_  happens, Nick; if I make detective and you don't, it would be the end of our partnership."

Nick's mouth pulls inwards and his eyes move away from hers. Clearly the thought had never occurred to him—not before just now. She squeezes his paws gently.

"And I don't WANT another partner Nick, I want you."

The words are no sooner out of her mouth than Judy feels a heat-wave go spiraling up the back of her neck and into her cheeks. Dangit that was NOT how she meant to say it.

She hastily qualifies herself.

"If wasn't for you Nick, neither one of us would have come close to making detective. How many times has it happened, fox—where we've needed some information and you've known exactly where to look and who to talk to? I'll tell you something right now; it annoys the heck out of me sometimes when you show off your street smarts in front of everyone, but I still wouldn't want you any different."

To the bunny-cop's amazement he squeezes her paw back; she'd expected him to pull away again.

"I may know who to talk to Carrots, but you're always the one who knows what questions to ask and how to ask them. Seriously, I've never met anyone in my life who knows how to make the pieces fit the way you do." A long, sly grin crosses his face. "And don't go selling yourself short, rabbit; you're pretty darn street savvy yourself. The way you played Duke Weaselton yesterday was a thing to behold." The corners of his mouth turn puckishly crooked. "But what I really admire about you Carrots is your integrity; if you wanted you could have pulled rank on Swinton just now—but you didn't because you knew she was right."

Judy smiles and gives her partner a small nod. She did it, she got through to him, (for once.)

She says. "Well maybe that's true Nick, but you don't exactly come up short on deductive skills either these days.  _Who_  was it, figured out what the weasel meant by BH-6 again?"

The response to this is something you don't every day, Judy—Nick Wilde grinning self- consciously. Yep, he got the message all right, and he'll keep on the straight and narrow from now on; no more worries.

“And I understand the difference too, Judy,” he says, flipping his feet up and then down again,  “When we left our post in the command truck yesterday, it was to go chase down a perp; it was business, not pleasure.”

Judy smiles and pats him on the shoulder; he said ‘we left our post’, not ‘you left yours.’

But then, for some strange reason, the red fox seems to stiffen. (Had Judy been privy to his conversation with Finnick just now—'Don't blow it again, Nick.'—she might understand what's going on with him.)

She doesn't know, however—and so when he pegs a thumb over his shoulder and changes the subject, she almost wants to kick him again.

"Before I forget to ask Carrots, that kid with the guitar who was walking with Gazelle just now, the silver-fox?"

Judy half sighs and half grumbles; ohhh-kay, maybe she  _didn't_  quite hit home with him after all.

"What about him?" she asks.

"Was that HIM I heard playing back-up on Animal City just now?"

"Yep, and pretty darn good too, especially for a kid his age. I think he messed up once or twice, but that was it, and he recovered well enough." Judy is no longer irked, instead wondering what the heck is THIS all about? "Why Nick, do you know him?" she asks.

"Not exactly," the fox admits, "but Finnick does. Believe it or not, Conor—that's his name, Conor Lewis—that kid is his new partner."

Judy's looks goes from curious to knock-me-over-with-a-feather in a flat microsecond.

"What, seriously? Go on Nick, he looks like he's still in  _middle school."_

Nick throws his paws up into a 'W'.

"I know, right? That's what _I_  said when Finnick told me, but he swears that it's for real."

He spends the next few minutes giving her the skinny on the t-shirt sale. When he's done, her mouth pinches inwards and she raises her eyebrows.

"Mmm, so  _that's_ what they're doing down there."

Nick's head tilts sideways "What  _who'_ s doing…down  _where?"_

Judy points down the concourse. At a picnic table beside the wall, Gazelle is pressing her hoof to an ink-pad and then applying it to a shirt spread out on the table-top.

_""Better than an autograph,' yep, that's works."_

He can't help but be impressed by Conor's easy manner with the pop-singer. Most kids his age would be trembling and tongue-tangled in her presence. Not this silver fox; while he's showing Gazelle plenty of respect, there isn't so much as a whiff of fear about him, at least not as far as Nick can tell. Whatever else you might say about him, this boy's got some serious sand.

Nick feels that twist of curiosity again. How is it that...?

"What is it fox?" Judy asks, without warning.

Aw nuts, he thought she hadn't noticed his expression.

"Mmm, nothing really." He says, "it's just that…well you know how us foxes can recognize each other by just our scent?"

"Yes, I remember; you told me once." Judy lifts up an eyebrow and lowers the other one, "So?"

Nick waves a paw towards the table again—where Gazelle is wiping her hoof and preparing to take her leave.

"Sooo, there's something familiar about THAT kid's scent."

All at once he feels his ears stand up and point at one another.  _"Yesss…and THAT"S why I can't get his smell out my sinuses."_

"You mean the two of you met before?" Judy is asking.

The fox shakes his head again, rubbing his brow with a finger.

"Noooo, I'd remember if we had, Carrots. What I mean is, I never smelled  _Conor,_  before, but I'm almost certain I smelled someone a lot  _like_  him once." He sighs, "But I'm a pelt on a wall if I can remember when, where, and who."

Judy pulls at an ear; a sign that she's trying to think.

"Maybe that's Finnick you smell?' She offers, "I mean, you just said they're partners."

"No, that's not it either." Nick shakes his head. He's about to say more, when he spies another animal stopping at Conor's table.

He's a serval-cat and a few years older than the silver-fox, high school student, just old enough to have his driver's license by the look of him. Like Conor, he's a guitar-player, (judging by the long, flat case dangling from his paw.)

Nick feels the corners of his mouth turn into jagged lines; this serval-kid could almost be the poster-child for, 'Save The Head-Bangers'; he's got all the requisite gear—torn-and-faded jeans, metal studs everywhere, a red bandanna wrapped around his head, and fur that looks as if he regularly sticks his finger in an electrical outlet just for fun. He moves with a laconic, pendulum gait.

He doesn't speak to Conor for more than a second or two; just long enough for the silver fox to point him in the direction of the sign-up desk.

But then, when the serval turns away, two things happen.

Conor whips out his cell phone cam and takes two fast snapshots…and then places the phone against his ear and makes a call. Even with his sharp hearing, Nick can't quite make out what the younger fox is saying, not at at this distance …but then maybe there's something to be said for lip-reading after all. He clearly sees the young fox mouthing, "…we got a mark."

And if  _Nick Wilde_  doesn't know what a 'Mark' is…

 _"Hmmm, is there a hustle going on here_?" he wonders, wisely keeping the thought to himself

The serval meanwhile has finished checking in at the sign-up desk and is stopping to open his guitar case.

Nick suppresses a low whistle. That guitar of his is right up there with the Conor-kid's instrument; maybe even a little higher up, although it's something of a different animal. Where silver-fox's axe spoke of elegance, this one screams flamboyance.

The top is painted with a magnificently realized rendition of a Jolly Roger flag this one featuring, a tiger's skull with a red bandanna encircling the crown and a long braid (ala Jack Sparrow) trailing down the side. The neck of the instrument is inlaid with letters in bright-silver mother-of-pearl,  **'Surrender The Booty'**.

All of the hardware is in gold, even the pickguard.

It's also brand, spanking new.

Then Nick sees Conor, snapping more photos of the serval, this time focusing on the cat's guitar. He's also traded the cell-phone for a compact digital camera with a telephoto lens. And then in a quick fluid, motion, he turns and connects the camera to a laptop lying on the table. (Where did THAT come from?) He types rapidly, at the same time pulling on a blue-fang headset. Nick cocks an ear and hears nothing, but his eyes catch the words, "be ready for my call."

"Hmmm…looks like there's something going on over there, Carrots." He says, no longer able to keep the news under wraps.

He immediately wishes he had.

"Forget about him, stay focused on our assignment." Judy answers, once more back in 'Bunny-Scout' mode.

Nick tries, but his eyes keep straying to the serval, who is just passing Officer Grizzoli at the head of the ramp. One look at the metal-head feline and the white wolf grimaces, tensing like a runner on the blocks.

" _All right_ now _what?"_  the red fox wonders, and then without thinking he says to Judy, "How come that kid gets to go onstage right away instead of waiting?"

"Probably made his reservation in advance," Judy answers, keeping her eyes on the entrance gate.

And then a loud voice is heard from above.

"Heyyyyyy, LionHEARRRRRT AMMMMM-Phi-THEEEEEE-Ter!"!"

The shout is full-bore, but also wavering and unsteady…someone walking across a waterbed.

Nick folds his arms and shakes his head derisively.

"Hmmm, no wonder Grizzoli is readying himself." he says, speaking to on one in particular "Sounds like somebody's been into the catnip."

Oops, spoke without thinking; the fox braces himself for another scolding from his partner, but this time they're on the same page.

"Yep, really," she agrees "and what an attitude huh? ' Hey, Lionheart!'…like he's _already_  a superstar or something."

As if to confirm the bunny cop's opinion, the serval proceeds with a song introduction that even Ted Nutria wouldn't touch.

"This issssssss 'Beware the Cyborrrrrg by Sa-vage I-I-IIIIIII-Islands"

Nick lets out a groan, but it's quickly swallowed up by the opening bars of the song.

When the serval joins in on his axe, it's anything but an auspicious beginning; his first riff is about as tuneful as claws on a chalkboard. Nick grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, wishing he could do the same with his ears.

(Beside him, Judy Hopps looks as if she's trying to crush her own skull.)

And then the vocals commence…and oh, the HORROR; this kid's singing is even worse his guitar playing—and those first licks were actually his  _best_  ones.

But this time the torture session is mercifully short; after only half another verse, the performance ends in a tsunami of boos and derision, all of them quickly answered by a feline screech.

That's Grizzoli's cue to go rushing onstage...as the crowd breaks into a mocking chant: "Bib-ber-TEE! Bib-ber-TEE! Bib-ber-TEE! Bib-ber-TEE!"

A moment later he's marching back down the stage ramp, holding the serval-kid by the arm, with the cat protesting feebly every step of the way. Judging by the splatters decorating the feline's fur and clothing, the audience's expression of displeasure went well beyond merely verbal.

"I didn't DO anything." The cat whimpers as Grizzoli escorts him past Nick and Judy.

"Not much." The wolf answers tartly, "Except try to throw a mike stand into the audience. And you're just lucky I stopped you. If you'd connected, you'd be looking at an assault charge right now."

He glances over at Nick as if seeking confirmation, which the red fox is only too happy to offer, nodding briskly.

Beside him, Judy Hopps does the same.

"Or even worse if someone had been seriously hurt," She says.

"But they were throwing stuff at ME!" the serval protests in a half-whiny yowl.

"Yes, but nothing that could have  _injured_  you." Grizzoli retorts, drawing further nods from his two fellow officers.

He lets the boy go and takes out his pad.

"All right kid, let's see some ID."

The serval quivers as if caught in a sudden chill.

"But…"

"Some ID…and right now."

The feline is fighting back the tears as he takes out his wallet and his driver's license. A moment later, the wolf gives it back along with a pale green slip of paper.

"All right this is just a warning," he says.

At these words, the banger-cat looks as if a three ton rock has just been pulled off his shoulders.

Two seconds later it comes crashing right back down again.

"But you're banned from this facility for the rest of the summer."

"What?" the kid is almost caterwauling, "The whole dang SUMMER? Dude, you  _can't!"_

"Yes, for the rest of the summer." The white wolf informs him, "If you're found anywhere on these premises before Labor Day, you'll be on your way to Juvie." His eyes narrow, "And considering who runs the Zootopia Youth Authority these days, I think that's  _not_  a place where you want to be."

At these words, Judy looks uneasily over her shoulder and towards the door to the office.

Ohhh, no…not only is it open, but standing in the doorway is Claire Swinton, formerly of the Zootopia Department of Corrections.

She's looking at the wolf with a seriously peeved expression; the decision to privatize the Zootopia Correctional System has always been a _very_  sore spot with her.  _She_  might have landed on her feet with the ZPD after being pink-slipped in the wake of the changeover …but most of her fellow correctional officers weren't so lucky.

 _"Uh-oh…better go smooth some ruffled hog-bristles."_  The bunny-cop quickly decides.

"Hey, Swinton." She says, "I was wondering about something…"

The two of them disappear inside the office

Meanwhile the serval is asking, "Can I at least go grab my stuff."

"Yes, that's all right Michael," the wolf answers addressing him by name for the first time, "But then you go straight out through the gate…and don't let me see you around this theater again before September."

The serval looks as if he's about to try one last plea…then wisely stops and slinks away.

Nick watches him go—and then sees someone  _else_  is watching, watching VERY carefully.

It's Conor again. And as his gaze follows the feline's path, he types a text message into his cell.

Halfway down the concourse, the serval stops in his tracks. For a second, he looks as if he's about to burst into tears…and then he flattens his ears and his lips pull back in a feral snarl.

Down by the fence, Conor strips off his headset, and drops the phone, leaping swiftly to his feet.

"Oh no, I think he's gonna…"

Nick Wilde feels his ears go up, partly because he has no idea what the silver fox is talking about, but mostly because Conor made that declaration just a mite TOO loudly—as if for the benefit of an audience.

The serval grabs his guitar by the top of the neck, raising it high overhead, preparing to reduce it to so much electric junk against the concrete.

Nick takes a step forward, but before he can manage another one, Conor Lewis is there between the guitar and the floor, paw raised in a stopping gesture.

"Dude…DON'T!"

"Get out of the way, fox!" the serval snarls, tears beginning to roil his cheek fur.

The silver fox only lifts his paw higher, pointing at the guitar with two fingers.

"Cat, that's an RLS Doc Doppler-Signature Custom."

The serval doesn't care right now. He turns and raises the guitar again—and this time there's nothing in to stop him.

"I'm gonna wreck it!"

Conor quickly raises his other paw.

"Don't wreck it dude, I'll  _buy_  it off you!"

The guitar stops in mid swing—and Nick Wilde begins to snicker. Oh, hoooo…so THAT'S this fox-kid's game.

"I'll BUY it off you," the silver fox repeats, "Come on dude, get  _something_  out of this."

"How much?" Michael lowers the guitar slightly, staring at Conor over a shoulder

Conor swallows hard…but from  _his_  angle, Nick can see that he has a paw behind his back and is busily working the buttons of his smart-phone.

"You're good kid." He mumbles under his breath. And 'dude? When Nick had spoken to the young fox earlier his accent had been pure east coast, now it's hang-ten beach-boy.

"$400 bucks." he finally blurts out, adding quickly, "It's all I HAVE."

Before the serval can respond to this, another fox arrives on the scene…and Nick's lower jaw practically does a crash dive. What the…?

It's Finnick.

"$400 bucks?" he says, looking sternly from the serval to Conor, and then back again, "$400 bucks for WHAT, son?"

 _"SON?!"_  Nick Wilde has to clamp his paws around his muzzle to keep for shouting the word out loud…and Mike-the-Serval is fairly surprised himself.

"He's my  _stepdad,_  okay?" Conor tells the feline, looking annoyed. (Nick's look is one of bewildered amusement.)

"For what?" the fennec asks again, his time with an edge to his voice. "$400 bucks for what, boy?"

"For that," Conor tells him, pointing to the serval-cat's guitar.

Finnick instantly rejects the idea.

"What? Nuh-UH kid, that's all the money you have in your Christmas fund."

"I can make it back, dad." Conor insists, "I can sell it again on ebray."

"Do you know LONG that'll take?" Finnick asks, and then answers his own question. "Last time, it was almost seven months and you had to cut the price so many times you barely made  _anything_  back. No, I'm sorry. No guitar."

"Please, dad?" the young fox is almost on his knees now.

Finnick fold his arms and the look on his face turns to chiseled granite.

"You got hearing problems, boy? The answer is no."

Conor grabs at the fennec's shirt-front, a drowning mammal clutching at straws, "Dad, he's gonna _trash_ that guitar if I don't buy it."

"Wha-WHAT?" Finnick turns to stare wide-eyed at Michael, who hefts the instrument to as if to demonstrate that's  _exactly_  what will happen to it if the deal falls through.

Finally, reluctantly, the fennec relents…but not without conditions.

"If that guitar doesn't sell, there will no pestering ME to help you out with your Christmas fund." He nods over at the serval-cat, "And no pestering _him_  to buy it back, either. I'll let you do this only if you agree to make out a 'No Refunds, All Sales Final' sales receipt."

Conor looks as if he's chugging a softball. "Dad…"

Finnick folds his arms again, "That's it son, take it or leave it."

The silver fox seems to think it over…and then he sucks in a breath and takes it.

"Okay, but uh…since you're here, Dad. Well, you know I don't have the money ON me and…"

Finnick growls, sighs, and reaches for his wallet.

"Is there a small-mammal ATM around here somewhere?"

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note:
> 
> Part of this chapter is actually a recycled tale from a series of stories that I first published on a Yahoo Group known as Furry City, and later on FurAffinity. The young silver fox Conor Lewis was my main character in those stories.
> 
> When I first saw the movie Zootopia, I naturally imagined putting him in that universe…and I always thought it would be a good fit. Like Zootopia, Conor’s hometown of Los Gatos, Califurnia was a town populated by sentient animals; mammals only, no birds or reptiles and absolutely no humans.  
> And then there was Conor’s background. Like Nick Wilde, he was a fox who made his way by working the streets. (In fact that’s how he got his first name; it’s a play on CON AR-tist.) 
> 
> Whenever I would think of Conor in Zootopia, I always came back to one particular episode; the guitar hustle he pulled at the Saturday Jam, reproduced here in a shorter form; it was the closet the kid ever came to a “Nick Wilde moment.” At one point he even delivered his own version of Nick’s tag line. (“You run pretty decent hustle there guys…for a couple of amateurs.”) In the original story he crossed paths with a pair of Los Gatos police officers in the midst of that scam, Sandy Franklin (an Eland) and Steve Maloney ( An Irish setter; domesticated animals existed in Los Gatos.) That led me to speculate on what would have happened if the officers working the Jam that day had instead been Nick and Judy. What eventually became The Fire Triangle went forward from there, though it took a number of false starts before I finally got it going.  
> There’s actually a great deal of material from Conor Lewis’ original story in The Fire Triangle—ideas that I had conceived but never gotten around to writing. The Prologue for example is taken directly from Conor’s back-story and the character of Kieran McCrodon was given a brief mention in the original Guitar Scam, though he never made an actual appearance in any of the Furry City stories.
> 
> In closing let me emphasize one thing. Conor Lewis is NOT about to take over as The Fire Triangle’s main protagonist; he is and will always remain in a supporting role with Nick Wilde and Judy Hopps as the central characters. 
> 
> John Urie aka Merc Marten  
> September 2017


	9. The Fire Triangle -- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick vs. Conor -- Round 1

**Chapter 9**

By the time Finnick returns with the money, Mike-the-serval is champing at the bit. At this point, it's pretty obvious that it won't take much for Conor's 'stepdad' to change his mind; he needs to get this deal done, and quickly. When the silver fox gives him the receipt to sign, his fingers practically fly across the paper. After that, the feline can't get out of there fast enough. (Before that blankety-blank wolf-cop shows up again!)

Conor and Finnick do nothing until he's gone—and then the pair of them swing into action.

In their haste to get to work, neither fox notices that Nick Wilde is observing their activity from a discreet distance, (and also from downwind.)

First order of business, Conor removes a folding guitar stand from his bike trailer and sets his purchase on it, neck up. While the Finnick snaps pictures of the beast from several different angles, the younger fox parks himself at his laptop and slaps on his headset, typing rapidly. He's too far away for Nick to make out the text, but the red fox can see one word clearly enough, and it's the only one he  _needs_  to see— **e** **b** **r** **a** **y** **.**

With his eyes still focused on the laptop, Conor snaps his fingers in Finnick's direction.

"Okay, ready for the pics."

The desert fox passes him the digital camera and disappears out the gate. Conor hooks it to the laptop with a USB cable and begins uploading the photos. He's just finishing up when his 'stepfather' returns, toting a cardboard box that just happens to be nearly the perfect size for a guitar case.

(Off to the side, Nick Wilde is biting his lip, and staring; come on, they can't _really_  expect to…)

Working swiftly and efficiently Conor and Finnick get the guitar boxed, and then settle down in front of the laptop.

It doesn't take long; a mere moment later, Conor throws up a fist and whoops, "Yeah, baby! First bid."

"There's another one." Finnick says, pointing.

"Yeah, I see it," Conor says. He's like a spectator at a sporting event, "And look, there's two more hits. Come on babe, just keep it rolling. Don't lay down on us now."

For the next few minutes, the fennec and the silver fox stare intently at the display screen, clenching and unclenching their paws, as if trying to make the price go higher through sheer force of will.

Then Conor yips and slaps his knee.

"Eyesssss, we got the Buy It Now price! $2500 clamskys, DF. Whoa-hohhh, and here comes the payment…DOUBLE Yes!"

The two of them exchange a high-five, and then Conor reaches into his bike-trailer again removing an object that resembles a scaled-down bread-box. It's only after he plugs it into the laptop that Nick Wilde recognizes the device for what it is.

_"A portable printer! Whoa. this kid's got more angles than a geometry class."_

While Conor bangs out a shipping label, Finnick makes a call on his cell. Although Nick can't hear what the fennec is saying, he can see his former partner's lips moving; he's on the horn with Feral Express.

Sure enough, less than three minutes later a FerEx van pulls up beside the gate and less than two minutes after that, the driver leaves with the guitar on board. As he watches it pull away, Nick Wilde takes a quick look at his watch.

The entire process took only little more than ten minutes.

A paw-shake between Conor and Finnick follows, the silver fox kneeling to accommodate his partner's smaller stature.

"Great work, kid."

"You too, D-F." Conor says, pulling out his wallet. "Here's your half of the four."

"Hey, you don't have to do that right  _now_ kid." The fennec fox protests, but then takes the money anyway.

"No, but I  _want_  to," Conor tells him, "and by the way, you were dead right about the Buy It Now price, DF. That's an extra five we made thanks to you."

He nods towards the laptop, "Speaking of which, I gotta post some feedback on Ebray real quick. See ya at the van later."

"Not till I watch you play first." The fennec fox reminds him, "Be back soon as I take care of a couple things."

On his way to the gate, Finnick makes an unexpected detour…right in Nick Wilde's direction.

"Don't look so surprised Nick, I knew you was there all along." He runs a forefinger along the rim of one of his oversized ears. "Maybe I couldn't smell your tail from upwind, but you better believe I  _heard_ you now; 'More angles than a geometry class?' Nice one."

A small growl escapes from the red fox. Dangit, he hadn't meant to say that out loud, even under his breath.

He angles his muzzle in Conor's direction.

"Okay, then why'd you go ahead with that hustle if you knew I was watching?"

Finnick's ears stand up and his mouth compresses inward.

"You want the truth, Nicky? If it had been just me, I might of have shined it…but it was the kid's score, and that made it his decision, not mine."

Nick's expression turns lopsided-on-wry.

"That's what you get for hooking up with a middle-schooler, Finnick. Sooner or later, that reckless little silver-fox is going to get the both of you in hot water."

Instead of looking vexed, Finnick merely looks smug.

"Reckless, huh… _that_ what you think? Uh-UH! Not him Nick, not that boy. Don't fool yourself; he got ten times the street smarts you did back in our pawpsicle days."

Nick can't help but notice that Finnick added a little emphasis to those last three words; a subtle reminder of what he was talking about earlier; he feels a flash of irritation coursing through him-which he unwisely chooses to direct elsewhere.

"Wha…? Get out of here, HIM?!" he half snorts, half guffaws, waving a disparaging paw in the direction of the young silver fox,

"Don't believe me?" Finnick retorts with that cat-got-the-cream look on his face again. He dips his fingers into a shirt pocket and pulls out one of the bills Conor gave him tucking it between his middle and forefinger.

"Then go over there and try to roust him,  _Officer_  Wilde," he says, holding it up for the red fox's consideration, "I got a twenty right here, says he makes a chump outta you."

"You're on!" Nick smirks, still peeved at his former partner.

He flips down his sunshades…but then another voice joins the discussion.

"Nick…no!" Judy tries to protest, but this time he isn't listening.

"This'll only take a minute, Carrots." He says, giving her an, 'I-got-this,' wave as he strolls off in the younger fox's direction.

Judy shakes her head and pinches the bridge of her nose. Darn it, not  _five minutes_  after she thought they'd settled this!

"This is not going to end well." she laments, to no one in particular.

From below and to her left, a deep voice begs to differ.

"Speak for yourself, rabbit." Finnick is flashing a toothy grin, "I think it's gonna have a GREAT ending."

The two of them watch as Nick walks up to where Conor is typing away on his laptop, headset in place apparently oblivious to his surroundings. Once more, Nick is downwind from the silver fox and this time he takes pains to move quietly.

He's about four feet away, when Conor abruptly turns and looks at him.

"Yes, Officer?" he says, looking as if you couldn't melt butter in his mouth with a blowtorch.

For a hint of a second, Nick hesitates.  _"What the…? How'd he know I was there?"_

He quickly shakes it off, smirking from ear to ear.

"That was one slick little hustle you pulled back there, kid."

Conor looks genuinely puzzled.

"Hustle? Uhhhh, what do you mean? I wasn't _dancing_  with Gazelle out there, only backing her up on guitar."

Nick feels his grin slipping downwards by a notch. This little silver so-and-so is going to be a tougher nut to crack than he thought.

_"You're good, boy."_  he thinks, " _But I'm better,"_  and then goes on the offensive

"Knock it off kid, you know what I'm talking about. Buying that guitar for only 400 bucks, and selling it off again for a cool 2500."

Conor just looks even more innocent and confused.

But not flustered.

"Uh, THAT was a hustle?" he asks, as calmly as if requesting a weather report.

Nick's anger begins to creep upwards, even if ever so slightly. He allows it to happen; it'll serve his purposes here.

"Yeah," he says, offering up an irate growl, "taking advantage of that poor serval kid…buying his guitar for pennies on the dollar and selling it off for five times what you paid in only two minutes."

Conor looks at his watch again, and shakes his head.

…and drops the naïve-young-innocent act.

"Actually it was more like ten minutes…and uh, how much would that guitar have been worth if I  _hadn't_ made an offer on it?" He looks Nick square in the face "I'll tell you how much….zilch….zero…zippity-do-dah; that 'poor, innocent serval kid' was getting ready use his axe for a  _pick_ axe when I made the offer. And since I stopped him from doing that, any price I suggested was fair, providing there wasn't any coercion." He returns his attention to the laptop screen, ignoring Nick as if the red fox were a flea he'd brushed away, "and you know as well as I do that there wasn't."

"Oh, REALLY?" Nick says, whipping off his sunshades and showing his eyes, a pair of hard, emerald slits. This boy is now officially beginning to get on his nerves.

See you and raise you; Conor wheels in his chair and gives Nick both barrels of  _his_  eyes, hot-coals and molten amber.

"Yes  _really_." He answers, matter-of-factly with just the slightest hint of irony. "White vs Grimhilde, 1997, in which the judge ruled, and I quote, 'As this item was about to be demolished, and as the buyer actively prevented the demolition of said item, the price paid cannot be considered unfair and/and or unreasonable…etc.'"

That's it as far as Nick is concerned. A twelve-year old kid…quoting the LAW at him? If he weren't still smoldering over Finnick's reminder of a moment ago, he might have stopped to analyze the situation-and realized that Conor has obviously pulled this hustle before-and that, like any good street-operator he made sure to do his homework first.

Instead his only thought is,  _"Okay, little wisenheimer, you asked for it."_

"Listen, kid…I know a hustle when I see one." He growls, pointing at himself with two fingers. "I used to works the streets myself back in the day. Before he was your partner, Finnick was MY partner. Maybe he told you about it?"

Yes he did, and Nick just jammed his foot in his mouth—with a crowbar. Conor shoots him the look most mammals reserve for dumpster-divers.

"Give it up, Wilde-thing; Finnick was your STOOGE, not your partner. Oh yeah, I heard about that all right, 'Don't wake the baby,' 'No kiss for daddy.' One put-down after another, and then  _who_  got most of the money while he was doing half the work?" He lifts his upper lip, exposing a gold-capped fang, "Treating another fox like that, you aughta be ashamed of yourself. Don't we take enough scrap off of other species without doing it to  _ourselves?"_

Nicks ears turn at right angles and his fur begins to fluff out like a puffball—the way foxes do when they get aggravated at another fox. Conor didn't just hit a nerve with that dig, he practically severed it. That wasn't the way he and Finnick had _always_  operated.

Meanwhile the subject of their argument can't get enough of this.

"Oh, ohhhhh." the desert-fox is nudging Judy in the knee with an elbow, "I think Nick's gonna start gekkering."

Judy looks at him with her nose twitching.

"Say what?"

"It's the noise us foxes make when another fox ticks us off." The fennec tells her, "watch n' listen."

Judy watches, listens, and feels her ears rising up in amazement. Nick is actually beginning to sound like…like...

Sweet cheez n' crackers…like Donald Duck on helium!

"Listen you little smartmouth," he snarls tapping himself with a knuckle, "I was the one who  _came up_  with our scores."

Conor's ears seem to wilt and his muzzle drops earthward…and Nick smirks. Finnick must never have told him about that one.

"You mean…that pawpsicle score was YOUR idea?" he asks, with just the tiniest tremor in his voice

Nick leans in smirking at the younger fox, going for the knockout.

"That's right kid, mine all the way."

…and finds out that instead he just threw a boomerang; Conor waves him off as if dismissing a panhandler

"Yeah yeah, big whoop; _that_  thing wasn't a hustle, it was Amateur Night in Bunnyburrows."

Nick's eyeballs seem to grow three sizes.

"WHAT?!"

Whoa, if you thought this kid was being snarky BEFORE…

He thrusts back his chair and hops up on his feet, waving his paw in an exaggerated, theatrical manner.

"Shall I compare thee to an epic fail? Let me count the ways. First of all, you not only admitted to a cop that you were running a hustle, you up and  _bragged_  about it…and how did THAT work out for you, huh? Nearly got busted for tax evasion and sayyyy, did you ever pay  _back_ any of those taxes? Whoa, what a score; a million bucks…In DEBT! And even without your lil' tax-dodge—you were pulling in what, two hundred bucks a pop with that gig? Back where I come from, we got two  _words_  for a hustle like that, 'chump' and 'change'".

Nick raises an angry finger, but the younger fox has more where that came from.

"And not only that," He corks a thumb in Judy's direction, "You run into the one rabbit in a gazillion who  _doesn't_  think all us foxes are shifty and dishonest—who even takes UP for our species—and what do you do? You dump all over her." His lip pulls upwards, along with his nose, "Nicholas P. Wilde, huh? What's the 'P' stand for, 'Planewreck'?"

Nick is nearly coming out of his fur at this point.  _Now_ this cub is  _lecturing_  him? He pokes himself in the chest again…this time so hard, he winces.

(Behind him, Finnick snorts.)

"Hey smart-guy…that wasn't the  _only_  hustle we were running. We used to collect rainwater in the rainforest district, and sell it as bottled water in Sahara Square during the summer. That was good for  _$500_  bucks a day."

Conor half sniffs, half yips…while in the background, Judy's ears go up like antennae. Nick never mentioned  _this_  to her.

"Yeah, riiiight." The young fox sneers, "and how much of that was profit, huh? The filters alone would of set you back for at least half of those 5 C's."

Now it's Nick's turn to look contemptuous.

"Filters?  _What_  filters? We didn't need any stinking filters. It was RAIN-water kid."

Conor just regards him with a pair of folded arms.

"The filters you were required to use by law; Zootopia revised statute, 759, Paragraph A, section C. 'All rainwater collected for re-sale as drinking water shall be subjected to proper filtration to a minimum of standard of no more impurities than…"

"All right!"

It's all Nick can stand and he can't stand no more. He reaches…actually, he fumbles for his cuffs.

"Keep it up wise-guy and you're going to Juvie, I'm warning you…"

The silver fox just shrugs apathetically.

"Then that's what's gonna happen." He raises an eyebrow at Nick. "Only…what, exactly, are you planning to bust me  _for?_  I never admitted to running any kind of  _illegal_ hustle." He pauses for maybe half a second and offers a full-toothed smirk, "unlike you."

It's a lucky thing for Nick Wilde that there's such a thing as optic nerves. Otherwise his eyeballs would be rolling across the floor right about now.

"Wha…what do you mean, 'unlike me'? I never said  _anything_ …."

Conor just reaches over and punches a key on his laptop. Immediately Nick's voice is heard coming from the speakers.

_"We didn't need any stinking filters. It was RAIN-water kid."_

He tags a few more keys and clicks—and the playback alters to a techno-trance version:

_That-that wasn't the only hustle we were running._

_…hustle we were running._

_…hustle we were running._

_We-we-we-we-we used-used-used-used-used-used-used-used-used-used…_

_To ollect rain-rainwater in the Rainforest District,_

_Rain-rainwater in the Rainforest District,_

_Rain-rainwater, rain-rainwater…rain-rain-rain-rain-rainwater_

_And sell…_

_And sell…_

_And seh-seh-seh-seh-sell_

_And seh-seh-seh-seh-sell_

_And seh-seh-seh-seh...seh, seh, seh, seh..._

_Seh-seh-seh-seh...seh, seh, seh, seh..._

Conor lets this go on for minute and then beckons toward Judy with a hooked finger, his face both solemn and righteous.

"Officer? Arrest this crooked fox!"

_Fi-f-fi-fi-five hundred bucks…_

_Fi-f-fi-fi-five hundred bucks…_

It's too much; Finnick topples over, laughing his tail off. Judy lays a paw on her brow and shakes her head, mouthing the words, 'I told you so.'

Nick's reaction by contrast sounds remarkably similar to channel surfing.

"Ygg…Gch…Fzn…Cuh…Phk…Cakh…Yph…!"

The phonetics end in a piercing fox-scream…a sound not unlike the noise of microphone feedback, coupled with stripped gears.

Nick turns on his heel and stalks away, seething and growling and spitting out fragments of sentences.

"Frrrgnnn…shnrrgn…smart-mouth….mrrfffigggg….snotty…grrrghhnnn…epic-fail...snrrffin…grrrfn…just wait….grrghn…mrrghn…I'll…."

Up ahead of him, Finnick is standing with an outstretched palm and a delicious smirk on his race.

The red fox doesn't miss a beat; as he trudges past his former partner, he pulls out a bill and slaps it into the fennec's paw without looking at him, capping the gesture with an angry snarl.

"Garfffn…snarfnnn…little…GRAH!..."

…and then tromps on his way, still muttering to no one in particular.

"Call  _me_  a planewreck…nrrrrghhhg…grrrrggh…punk…frargrrn…gargrrn…little…SNARR!"

* * *

**Foxes gekkering:**  <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JKHZ201aLX0>

**Fox screaming:**  <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zk1mAd77Hr4>

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prologue to the Fire Triangle may be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11620323/chapters/26127297


	10. Zootopia 2, The Fire Triangle -- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus post for Sat. 9/9/17
> 
> Music hath charms...to bring your chickens home to roost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited and revised -- 9/11/17

** Chapter 10**

Finnick kisses the twenty Nick just gave him, laughs, and stuffs ti in his pocket.  With the ceremony completed, he toddles off towards the gate, offering Conor a fist bump on the way.

The younger fox returns it with a half-smile and then points two fingers at Nick.

“Okay, fess up D-F….did YOU put him up to that?”

The Desert Fox only shrugs.

“What can I say, kid?  Best laugh I had all week…and I got _paid_ for it.”

Conor sniggers and nods

“Okay, gotcha.”  He reaches over and picks up his guitar. “But uh, it’s my turn onstage next…if you wanna hang out and watch, that is.”

“Heck YEAH, I wanna see dat.” The fennec says, “I got a few things back at the van I got to do, but they can wait.”

He points at Conor’s laptop. “Say, how’d you do that thing with Nick’s voice anyway, turn him into a hip-hop star?”

Conor types on the laptop and the clicks.

“Oh that?” he says, and clicks again.

His voice comes back immediately

_“Oh that?  Oh, that?  Oh, tha-tha-tha-tha-that?_

_Oh that?  Oh, that?  Oh, tha-tha-tha-tha-that?’_

He clicks again and the playback stops.

“It’s called HouzeMouze,” he says, turning the laptop so Finnick can see, “I downloaded it off FreeJay.com; comes in a smartphone app, too.”

“Cool, lemme check that out,” The fennec fox says, peering closely at the screen.  But then he frowns.  “One more thing though…how’d you know ‘bout dat law, says you got to filter rainwater before you sell it?  I never heard ‘bout anything like that back in the day.”

Conor’s face slices open in a foxy grin.

“Actually _I_ never heard of it either...huh?  Wha-What’s that for, DF?”

Finnick is now right in front of his, practically in his face…and the fennec’s own face is no longer smiling, but decorated with his famous long scowl.

“So Nick can’t see you talking, boy; he can read lips,” Finnick lowers his voice before casting a wary eye over a shoulder.  No, the red fox isn’t looking.

But still…

“You mean dat whole thing was a head-fake?” he asks, staring incredulously at the younger fox.

“Pretty much,” Conor answers, himself looking a little bewildered—as if he can’t understand why his partner would have a problem with that.

Finnick has a _major_ problem with it; he lowers his voice again, the pitch this time, not the volume. 

“You outta your…?  How’d you know Nick wouldn’t call you out on that?”

He sounds just like he did when they were arguing over the serval-cat’s guitar, only this time, it’s not an act.

Conor spreads his paws and halfway shrugs.

“Even a cop can’t know _every_ law on the books, D-F.”

The desert fox jabs a finger into the table,

“But a good hustler always knows the laws where he _lives_ —and that’s right where Nick and me used to live.  You just lucky he’s trying to put all that behind him boy, or I might of been the one ended up owing HIM a 20.” His lips compress into a hard, brittle line, “I hate to tell you this kid, but Nick was right about one thing if nothin’ else; you ARE dat reckless sometimes.”

Conor opens his mouth to speak, but Finnick pre-empts him by leaning in close.

“And one other thing; I told Nick something as a friend a few minutes back, and now it’s your turn.”  His face is hard, but not unkind.  He says,  “You may be better than he was back when we was running the pawpsickle thing, but there was another time before that…and Nick  could have scammed you outta dat laptop and both your guitars back then, and you wouldn’t of known it till he was six miles down the road.  Don’t get cocky kid; it’ll cost you big someday.”

Conor’s neck-fur spikes and he rockets up out of his chair.

“Heyyy, don’t go copping a ‘tude at ME, Finnick.  _You_ sent him here, remember?”

Finnick puffs out his cheeks and sighs; the effort seemingly causes him to deflate

“Yeah, I did that,” he admits almost muttering, looking away.

Conor will later wish he’d left it that, but now he growls and waves a paw in Nick Wilde’s direction.  (Or where he thinks Nick is anyway.)

“And why are you even taking up for that guy anyway, after all the times he made fun of you—and then pretended that you didn’t exist?”

For the first time ever, Finnick shows the younger fox his fangs.

“Coz we been through it together, boy.  Maybe one day when you been through it yourself, you’ll understand.” 

Conor’s face becomes a wooden mask.

“Maybe I have, DF.” he tells the fennec quietly, “Maybe I have.”

“I doubt it,” Finnick’s voice is even softer than the younger fox’s. “Anyway, I think I’ll go watch you from the lawn ‘stead of stageside kid.  See you back at the van.”

He turns and walks away without looking back, and it’s too bad Nick Wilde isn’t looking in the fox kid’s direction right now.

It would have given him no small measure of satisfaction to observe Conor Lewis sitting in an uneasy silence.

At the moment, however, the only thing Nick Wilde can see is concrete.

He’s plopped down into a chair beside Judy, with his chin tucked into his collarbone, staring downwards, clasping and unclasping his paws.

She turns and opens her mouth to speak but then wisely chooses to remain silent.  Her partner looks just like a little fox-cub who doesn’t _want_ to go to bed.

When Conor strolls past with his guitar a moment later, Judy’s ears go up as she takes note of what Nick saw earlier—except _she_ doesn’t have to wonder where a middle-school kid picked up such an instrument like that, (probably the same way he snaffled the serval-kid’s guitar, except _this_ one he didn’t sell off.)

Oddly enough, seeing him pass close by appears to rouse Nick Wilde from his sulk; he sits up in his chair and calls out through cupped paw, “Break a leg!”

Conor looks over a shoulder, surprised by the gesture, “Hey, thanks,” he says—and does he look a little chastised?

Well, not for long, because he’s not the only fox in the amphitheater who doesn’t know when to leave off.

“I’m serious, kid!” the older fox growls, drawing a groaning sigh from Judy. Is this what she’s going to have to put up with for the rest of the day’?

Conor turns and gives Nick a ‘red-eye’, pulling down on a lower eyelid while sticking out his tongue.

Then he wheels about and heads onstage

Judy sighs once more and tries to sooth her partner’s ruffled fur a little, “Everyone gets owned now and then Nick.  Remember the first time WE met?  Took me half the night to get that cement dust out of my fur.” 

Nick just turns away from her, sinking even deeper into his chair; she almost expects him to start sucking his thumb.

Then from onstage they hear a brief round of applause, followed by Conor’s greeting to the audience.

“Hey everyone.”

The ovation swells slightly…a fact that does not escape Judy Hopps’ attention.  This kid is no stranger to The Saturday Jam, they’re treating him like they _know_ him.

“Okay,” he says, “This is one by Fisher.”

The crowd noise subsides into a dull murmur, and then the music starts to play.

It begins with a canned organ riff, but then Conor quickly picks it up on the twelve-string side of his guitar, a pair of long, rolling chords.

When he opens his mouth and begins to sing, it becomes instantly clear that this young silver fox has a silver throat to match.  His voice is soulful and crystalline, a young Joe Jackal with perhaps a touch of Chris Furnell

But that’s not what grabs Judy’s attention.

It’s the lyrics.

_"There's something I want to ask you, before it's too late._

Conor plays two more licks and goes into the refrain.

And Judy feels an odd stirring in her chest…or is it coming from somewhere deeper inside?

_"What would you do...?_

What would you do, the song asks, if I got down on my knees and told you that my feelings for you run deeper than friendship?

_Way_  deeper...

Would you be angry, would you put me off?

Would I only be wasting my time, like so many others before me?

Are we just good friends, is that all?

The bunny-cop swallows…and risks a sideways glance at Nick. (W _hy_  is that a risk?)

He’s on his feet once more, looking straight ahead, pretending that the song is having no effect on him…but Judy sees otherwise. There's no mistaking the quivering in his tail.

Whatever she's feeling, (what IS she feeling?) he feels it too.

The young fox goes into the second verse.  If the first one struck home, this one strikes _deep._

If I told you how I really feel, how would you react?

Would you let me down easy, is that the best I can hope for.

And those are only the first two lines; the third one asks, are you just my father confessor, my shoulder to cry on?

A balloon swells in Judy's throat…and something hot and damp swells in her eyes.

And then she's back…back in the Meadowlands, back in that tunnel with Nick, the day she returned to Zootopia and went with Finnick to go looking for him…and found him.

_"I know you'll never forgive me….I wouldn't forgive me either._

_And when it's all over, you can hate me…and that'll be all right…because I was a horrible friend…and I hurt you…and you can walk away knowing you were right all along. I really AM just a dumb bunny."_

_"All right, get in here."_

He'd taken her back…after all the awful things she'd said, he'd forgiven her and taken her back as a friend.

Just…as a friend?

Was that only friendship…or…could it have been…something more? 

Just then Conor sings. _"...always so close, yet so far away."_

_"Yes, we are."_ Judy thinks…and no, that WAS only friendship.

Meanwhile Conor is performing a reprise of the chorus.

_"What would you do…?"_

Finishing up on the refrain, the young fox switches from the twelve-string to the six and goes into a guitar solo, a heartfelt lament, played with a sure, deft paw.

(Or that’s how it sounds to Judy; the way her head feels right now, the kid could break two strings and she probably wouldn’t notice.)

Beside her Nick Wilde is on his feet again swept away by the music, it's beautiful, just like… _"Stop that!"_

He barely suppresses an urge to slap himself…or rush onstage and wring the kid's neck, take your pick.

Judy Hopps is a friend, that's all, just a friend.  He must have said that to himself a thousand times since the moment he kissed her—and he doesn’t need any silver-fox punk to remind him of it now.

And _why_ did this tune have to have to happen right after his conversation with Finnick? If there's ONE mammal he doesn't want to think about right now, it's…

A long-dormant voice cries out in his head, Nick cannot shut her out.

_"You didn't_ need _to lie to me…!"_

Conor wraps up the solo and goes into the next verse.

_"Do I really need to ask you?"_

Nick looks at Judy, turning swiftly away when he thinks she's about to look back at him.

Like the song says, is all that's between them...really all that's between them?

What does Carrots really mean to him…what do they really mean to each other? What about that time in The Rainforest District...when Judy had come THAT close to turning in her badge to Chief Bogo—and _Nick_ had stopped her?

Well, he'd owed Judy that much, she'd saved his life after all. If it hadn't been for her, Mr. Manchas, helpless in the grip of that Nighthowler dart, would have turned him into fox-fajitas.

But what about the rest of it? Why had he told her about what had happened to him when he'd tried to join the Junior Ranger Scouts…the muzzle, the taunting laughter that had followed him all the way outside. Except for his mother, only he knew the story; he'd never told anyone else about it, not even Finnick.

So, why had he told it to a bunny that he barely even knew?

Up on the stage, Conor goes into the refrain once more

_"Would I just be another who is wasting his ti-hiiiiime?"_

Nick feels his head sag…and at the same time his resolve stiffening. There's no way Judy could feel that way about him—or him about her, and that’s just the way he wants it, they’re friends and colleagues--period!

But what _about_ that friendship, is it headed for the rocks because of _him?_

_"Aggggh, grrrr… I'd mortgage my_  soul _if I could just take back that stupid kiss; dumb, Dumb, DUMB fox!"_

He cannot possibly know that right now, Judy Hopps is wishing for the very same thing…only for a very different reason.

_"Even if it were possible, (it isn’t), nobody else will ever accept the idea that a fox and a bunny could ever be more than friends.  And now, after what happened in that jewelry store, who’s going to believe that_ Nick and I _are only friends?  Look at how Francine reacted when she saw that video;_ she’ll _never believe that’s all we are….and what would my PARENTS say?"_

As if reading her thoughts, Conor belts it out on the final verse…the words cutting deeper than any that came before.

_"So are we left to chance meetings?"_

What comes after that makes Nick Wilde want to find rock to crawl under.

_"Over what might have and what should have been..."_

What might have been…what should have been…what WOULD have been if he'd only told Robyn the truth before it was too late

_"And now I can't tell_ Judy _the truth."_ He reminds himself, feeling his throat twist into a knot.

_"Sure you can, she’d only a friend, right?"_  says a familiar, sardonic voice inside his head.

Nick nearly cuts loose with another fox scream.

_"Aggggh, grrrr, go AWAY Finnick…and you too, you little silver-back smart-mouth!"_

He looks at Judy, looks away when he thinks she's looking back; Judy looks at him, and then also turns away when she thinks _his_  gaze is shifting.

On the final chorus, Conor slows the tempo with every passing each line.

_"What would you do…?"_ the refrain asks again

Nick and Judy answer silently, each in their own way….

_"I'd tell her I was flattered…"_

_"… that I value him as a friend..."_

_"…but I don't have_ those _kinds of feeling for her…_

_"…but that I value him_ only _as a friend…"_

_"…and then I'd hate myself."_

_"…and then I'd go home and pull the bedcovers over my head."_

Conor sings again: _"Are we just good friends?"_

_"Yes…"_

_"That's all we are."_

_"…aren't we?"_

_"…right?"_

And again, _"Are we just good friends?"_

Judy almost puts her paws over her ears

_"Dangit, enough already!"_

Nick nearly turns and runs.

_"Aren't you DONE?"_

He takes a subtle step away from Judy.

_"Are we just good friends?_

She moves apart from him as well.

_"Are we just good friends"?_

And then Judy turns away from him…and he from her.

_"Are we just good friends?"_

For what seems like an eternity, the whole world hangs motionless in the air, frozen in place….except for Nick and Judy.

Until, in a low croon Conor delivers the last line of the song

_“…honestly, sincerely...are we just good friends?”_

_“Yes, we are.”_ The fox and bunny answer together, silently.

Three seconds of silence follow…and then the audience erupts in a thunderous roar of approval.

Nick and Judy hear none of it.

When Conor says his thank you to the crowd, it barely registers with the fox and bunny; something about the Peace Rock Guitar Co-op, was that it?

A few seconds later, when the silver fox comes back down the ramp, he might as well be on the clean-up crew for all the attention he gets from Nick and Judy. They have other concerns at the moment.

Something's been uncorked; the genie is out of the bottle and he's not in any mood to go back inside.

When they'd had their talk earlier, about sticking to the job and not risking their chances at making detective, one subject had remained conspicuous by its absence.

The kiss inside Rafaj Brothers Jewelers; until this moment neither one of them had asked why Judy had gotten so upset over the incident. Nick had put it down to her being angry over all the flak they were getting, and Judy had simply put it away period.

Not so easy to put aside now; there's something else at work here and they both know it.  First of all if there anything that could spoil their chances at making the detective bureau, this is the losing ticket.

And that’s only scratching the surface.

Ever since Nick and Judy had first become partners there had always been some casual flirtation between them—perfectly harmless stuff:  It had started on their very first day together.

_"You know you love me."_

_"Do I know that? Yes, yes I do?"_

Judy finds herself drifting further back, to the time when Nick had told her about being muzzled as a kid.

_"If the world is only going to see a fox as shifty and dishonest…there's no point in trying to be anything else."_

And Judy had put her paw on top of his.

_"Nick, you are so much more than that."_

He had pulled his paw away from hers and changed the subject, but _not_  until after she said it.

If it had been any other girl-bunny, he would have pulled back right away; _that's_  one thing Judy DOES know.

And if anyone had told HER before that night that she'd ever take a _fox_  by the paw…

Wrapped up in their heavy, awkward silence, the fox and bunny remain immobile, unable to even look at each other.

Predictably, it's Nick who cracks first, turning towards Judy once again.

"Uhm Carrots," he says, forcing himself to look at her, "There's something…something I think we need to talk about."

Judy swallows, barely able to meet his gaze with her own.

"Y-Yes Nick…I know." She says, "It's probably something we should have discussed a long time ago."

"Uhm, agreed…" he says, regarding the ground for a second. "Do…Do you want to go first?"

Judy's lips pull inward.

"Uhm…yeah," she says, "Nick, I…

The door behind them flies suddenly open and Officer Swinton bursts out though the opening.

"Hey, heads up; someone's going for that locker!"

 

* * *

Fish (Fisher)  Performing  'Just Good Friends' in Caracas, ( I think, )  [https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqcqZ1VeeQ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pqcqZ1VeeQ%20%20)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the first time I saw Zootopia, the tune, 'Just Good Friends' seemed to perfectly embody Nick and Judy's relationship; no way was I not including it in The Fire Triangle


	11. Zootopia 2, The Fire Triangle -- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom's mule is revealed...but he's not going to go down quietly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:
> 
> The update is posting late this week, for two reasons.
> 
> 1\. Owing to some feedback I received and a few things I noticed myself, I decided to edit and revise some of the already-posted chapters of The Fire Triangle before adding anything new. Conor is hopefully a little bit less of a Mary Sue than he was before, and Nick and Judy's interaction works a little better.
> 
> 2\. This latest chapter turned out to be the toughest editing job of anything I have written so far for this story, and not merely for the above mentioned reasons. (For a while there I thought I'd died and gone to Hell and would have to spend eternity tweaking this thing.)

**Zootopia II – The Fire Triangle**

**Part One:**

**Fuel**

* * *

**Chapter 12**

"Hey, heads up; someone's going for that locker!"

All at once the spell is broken. Nick and Judy practically dive through the office door.

And yes there is; on all three of the display screens, a figure is visible, unlatching the locker door and removing the case from inside.

A familiar figure…

A familiar,  _diminutive_  figure…

Nick says it first, "Conor."

Even now, his voice is a disbelieving puff of air…and Judy is even more baffled. She knew the kid was a miscreant, but this is out-and-out criminal.

As the officers stare in amazement, the young silver fox slips the case into his backpack, turning just far enough to show the camera his profile. There can be no doubt now, it's him, and that's  _the_  locker.

But then his ears go up and he keeps on turning…casually, perhaps a bit too casually, until his full face is showing on the monitor

From beside her Judy hears a soft, rippling fox growl.

"Aggggh, grrrrrr. South…is that thing looking south?" Nick Wilde asks, a seemingly rhetorical question.

Suddenly, without warning, he grabs her by the shoulder.

"He's going to make the camera. We have to move— _now!"_

Judy stares and feels her nose twitching.

"Wha…Nick? How can you poss…?"

"He's right, look!"

It's Officer Swinton, jabbing a finger at the center display screen.

Judy looks, and sees Conor's right eye, peering straight back at her.

In the skip of a heartbeat he's gone.

Swinton squeals and pounds the desk. "He spotted it, go…GO!"

Nick and Judy don't need to be told twice, the two of them fly out the door, and go rushing down the concourse.

The red-fox sees him first.

The red fox sees him first. "There!"

Conor is down at the gate, astride his park-bike… _without_  the trailer.

It takes Nick Wilde all of two seconds to work it out; there's only _one_  reason the kid would ditch his guitars and the rest of his gear—to save weight. He raises a finger and shouts, "Wolford, stop that kid!"

Too late, Conor is already through the gate. In a single, blinding motion, he slams it shut and slaps his bike lock through the chain-links.

Then he turns and begins to pedal away.

Nick grabs the lock, gives it a tug; no good, it's one of those bombproof U-models. He looks up; another washout, the fence is topped by a coil of razor ribbon.

Judy Hopps has better luck, there's a spot along the fence-line with no pavement underneath, and she quickly zeros in and burrows beneath it, bursting out on the other side and flying off in hot pursuit.

Until she hears a distressed fox-yelp, coming from directly behind her.

"Carrots, you made the hole too _small_  again!"

Judy glances over her shoulder…and wants to kick herself. Yes, she did. Nick only managed to jam himself about halfway into the makeshift tunnel before he got stuck…buried up to his waist with his feet in the air.

Ohhh, and this only  _n_ th time she's made this mistake.

Then the red fox's voice snaps her out of it

"Forget about me, get that fox-kid!"

Judy takes off into the parking lot, wishing she at least has time to say she's sorry.

At first, it looks like a hopeless task. By now, the lot is nearly full; a sea of chrome and steel blocking nearly all visibility.

But then, Judy's ear shoots up; what's that, over on her left? Screeching tires, a blaring horn, and a muffled oat, though not completely muffled; a single word rings clear, "Fox!"

Okay fine, but where _exactly_  did it come from? In this labyrinth of vehicles pinpointing the source is a chore for even Judy Hopps' keen hearing.

_"I've got to get up where I can see."_  She thinks,  _"Wait, that macro-bus."_

It's actually an SUV with aftermarket mods, (retooled for a giraffe, perhaps?) Whatever, it's exactly what she needs. Judy bounds into the bed of a parked pickup, ricochets off a light-pole and then pulls herself onto the roof of the SUV.

There! There's the little silver-fox, riding hell-bent-for-leather in the direction of the athletic fields.

"Oh no, you don't." Judy murrs to herself.

She leaps off the roof, caroms off another light pole, bounces herself off the cab of a maintenance truck, catches a second pole in her left paw and swings herself around it, catapulting herself up and out in a rainbow arc.

Ahead of her, Conor is less that thee feet from the entrance to the playing fields when Judy comes down in front of him in a low three-point crouch, blocking the way.

"Stop right there! ZPD!"

Caught by surprise Conor slams to a halt—more than a little too quickly; nearly catapulting over the front of his bike in what cyclists call an OTB.

That mistake is what saves him. As the rear-wheel pitches upward, the young fox makes a Hail Mary move, spinning his body in a hard right hard turn and kicking the side of the bike with his heel.

Conor barely makes it, but he makes it; whirling like a helicopter over Judy, so close that she can feel the bike's rear tire brush her shoulder.

And then he's once again racing away at full tilt.

Judy goggles in amazement, snaps herself out of it, and goes off after him. Okay the kid got lucky…once.

Then her ears prick upwards again…this time not from what she hears, but from what she  _sees._

On the field in front of the fleeing silver-fox, a rugby game is in progress…large mammals only. She counts three hippos, two rhinos, three tigers, five lions and a pair of giant elands.

And all of them are charging downfield—right for where Conor is riding.

_"This boy is either the gutsiest or the craziest kid I've ever seen_." The bunny cop says to herself. Any one of the players' feet could easily turn him into pulp.

_"And me, too."_  The thought blooms in Judy's head before she can quash it.

She cups her paws to her mouth and calls out a warning to the Rugby players, "Look out for that kid!"

One or two of them hear her and pull up short…but the rest are too wrapped up in the game to pay attention. The young fox is less than ten yards away from them now, and picking up speed.

And that's when the ball gets loose and begins rolling right towards him—with practically every mammal on the field diving after it. Judy's eyes widen in horror. He's going to be steamrolled like a…

Conor flashes in front of the oncoming players, so close he nearly punctures a tire on the claws of a tiger. But never mind that, there's a water buffalo about to come down right on top of him, and there's no way the young fox can avoid him.

At that instant, an eland plows into the buffalo, knocking him into a sideways jackknife; he lands barely a scant centimeter behind the young silver fox.

Whether the eland did that to save Conor or simply as part of the game, Judy cannot tell. What she  _can_  see is that the fox kid now has clear sailing ahead.

But no such luck in her corner; there's a twelve-mammal pileup standing between her and her quarry, a veritable Mount Evfurest of flesh and fur,

No such luck in her corner; there's a twelve-mammal pileup standing between her and her quarry, a veritable Mount Evfurest of flesh and fur,

However sometimes being a little bunny-rabbit has its advantages; Judy springs up nimbly onto the back of a prostrate rhino.

"Excuse me."

…then onto a tiger's shoulder.

"Police business…sorry."

…and from there, onto the horns of the eland she saw earlier.

"So sorry, coming through."

And onto the head of a hippo.

"Hey!"

"ZPD!"

"Oh, sorry officer."

A final, flying leap and then she's back on terra-firma. Only where…? No, wait there he is…pulling for a pair of concrete quarter moons with a crowd of kids surrounding them—some with bikes, but most of them toting skateboards.

Judy nearly calls out for him to stop, but swiftly kills the notion; a futile gesture that will only waste oxygen. Instead she hits the afterburners, determined to catch up with the young fox before he can reach his goal.

She almost makes it; just as she's about to grab hold of the park-bike's seatpost, Conor goes rocketing up the side of the half-pipe. Judy leaps with all her strength, managing to get about halfway up the slope. Her fingertips barely touch against a tire, before she starts to slide back down again. Judy scrabbles desperately for a paw or a toehold but this thing makes the ice wall back at the police academy look like Velcro. Helpless to stop herself, the bunny cop goes sliding back down the face of the half-pipe ending up in a flat sprawl…much to the delight of the kids watching, who shower her with a chorus of hoots and derision

"Whoa, way to go, cutie."

"Ha, nice one, bunn-butt."

"Woo-hooo, do dat AGAIN!"

And those are three of the  _milder_  comments; just her luck it's the ganger-wannabee crowd using the half-pipe on this fine Zootopia morning.

Judy pays them no mind; after two years on the force, she's heard plenty worse, and besides, she needs to stay focused on her quarry.

Speaking of which…

High above her, at the top of the pipe, the young fox tries to pivot his bike in an airborne 180.

He doesn't make it; halfway through the turn, he begins to tumble backwards, head-first.

…just as a young elephant, waiting his turn on the balcony snaps his trunk around Conor's midsection and hauls him to safety.

"I don't know who you are, son." Judy mutters, brushing at herself as she watches them exchanging a disjointed high-five, "But you must have done  _something_ good in your life to keep dodging all these bullets."

But then she sees the two boys gesturing wildly at each other and lifts up her ears, just in time to hear the pachyderm blare, "Don't homes, you'll KILL yourself."

Too late, Conor is already halfway over the rim with the nose of his bike aiming nearly straight downwards.

The only thing for Judy Hopps now is to brace up and wait.

Conor's front wheel shimmies like a flag in a gale as goes careening down the pipe on slewed, erratic course. But somehow, he manages to not to fall over.

Leg muscles bunching, Judy pulls herself into a half crouch. Her only chance is to try and sidewall the kid as he goes by her; there'll no such thing as meeting him head on;  _that_  will only send the  _both_  of them straight to the ER.

It's not going to be easy, that crazy-quilt course Conor's charting will make it well night impossible for Judy to time her move correctly, and as for getting any help from the sidelines, forget it. These kids are all down wit' da fox; one rat-kid in a Che Capybara Tee is even cheering him on.

Breathing lightly, Judy focuses on the oncoming silver-fox, _"Wait for it…not yet…a little closer…a little more…NOW!"_

She springs towards Conor; a foot goes out in front of her, and she trips. Reacting swiftly, the bunny-cop pulls herself into a tight forward roll, slapping the ground and coming up a yard short of her target, but still on her feet.

Ignoring the chorus of contempt all around her, she takes off in hot pursuit once more.

Ahead of her, she can see the ground sloping away in the direction of Cataract River, the stream bisecting the Downtown and Savanna Central districts.

And there's Conor, heading straight for a stone bridge spanning the Cataract.

Moving by leaps and bounds, Judy closes the gap on the young fox…but then just as he reaches the span, the fox pulls yet another trick out of his lucky-bag. Instead of going across the bridge, he swings into a drift turn and down a different pathway

All at once his wheels skid out and he falls flat against the surface of the walkway….right in front of Judy

On level ground, she could stop herself in time, nooo problem, but going downhill is whole 'nother kettle of carrots; here she has too much momentum.

So instead of trying to stop, Judy speeds up into a flying leap, sailing over the top of the prostrate fox, to land atop a granite marker.

She's fast…but so is Conor; he's already back up and flying away down the stream-bank.

Judy flies away after him. He sees her, jumps his bike to the opposite bank…and for once, he gets it right

She jumps after him; he jumps back. By rights, the bunny-cop should have the advantage. She can leap from a standstill, but Conor needs a ramp and a running start.

Unfortunately for Judy, the downhill slope and the flat rocks lining the streambed are giving him plenty of both. No wait…just ahead, a section of the river fronted by bramble bushes.

_"If I can time this just right,"_  Judy thinks,  _"If I can get him between me and those sticker-bushes…"_

It doesn't work out nearly like that; Conor also sees the brambles and hastily cuts down a ragged trail, heading for one of the entrance roads.

A flare goes up in Judy's head; there's something about that particular road…something she spotted on the way in, earlier today.

Never mind, no time to worry about it; she vaults over a hedge and goes tearing after the fleeing fox.

Conor pulls onto the roadway and turns a sharp right. Judy follows him and then she remembers…or rather is forcibly  _reminded_ of what it was she saw, earlier in the day.

The road is blocked by a tall barrier pasted with an orange-and-black sign reading,  **STOP - - ROAD CLOSED**  .

And after all his other crazy moves, Judy knows that Conor Lewis isn't going to let a little thing like  _this_  stop him.

In fact, the young fox doesn't even let it slow him down. He hits the barrier at full tilt, folding down sideways in a slide-for-life, and skittering underneath the barrier with barely an inch to spare.

Judy grits her teeth and winces; the road surface here is all rough gravel; _that_  had to hurt.

_"If I don't catch this kid pretty soon, there won't be much of him LEFT to catch."_

She leaps up and on top of the barrier, and immediately spies him.

Strange…he's not pushing it anymore, and no longer attempting to duck and weave. He's also moving so slowly you could almost call it cruising…and keeping to such a straight-on course, he could be painting a stripe down the center of the road.

He's also less than ten yards ahead of her.

Judy's left ear shoots up and she listens for a second. What now, is the kid growling to himsel...?

_"Never mind that, he's getting away!"_

Oh no, he's not; no way can she miss catching now, not even if the kid drops the hammer. This time, SHE has the high ground.

She leaps off the sign, recoils off the side of a cement-mixer, and…

_"Cement…mixer? Ohhhh, sweet cheez and…"_

Too late, down below her, coming up fast is the bunny cop's old nemesis…

Wet cement—and  _this_  time she's going to…!

Judy's thoughts go into overdrive; time slows to molasses crawl. There has to be something; how is  _Conor_  able to keep rolling if…? Wait, that's it.

Snaking down the center of the wet concrete is jagged line of duckboards, only about half a foot wide…just wide enough to accommodate Conor's bike tires.

Bike tires, but not rabbit's feet.

A rabbit's  _paws_ , though…

Judy tucks and rolls in midair, tumbling over into a pawspring and propelling herself upwards off the duckboards. She spots a water truck parked beside the cement mixer, and hooks her foot, aiming for the side mirror bracket.

…and nails it!

Hanging upside down by her instep, it takes the bunny-cop a second or two to adjust her vision.

The first thing she sees is that her quarry is finally through the gauntlet of wet-cement.

Moving quickly, Judy pulls herself up and onto the cab of the truck with an easy motion. (All those inverted sit-ups she did at the ZPD Police Academy are finally paying off.)

She makes it just in time; directly ahead of her, Conor Lewis is back on the pavement and pushing flat out for one of the exits.

Judy bounds off the truck, caroms off a generator, and hits the ground running..

And finally she gets a little gratification. Conor glances over a shoulder at the sound and oh, the look on his face—yes! The kid couldn't be saying, 'You have GOT to be kidding!' any louder if he were screaming it at the top of his lungs.

But then he turns around and pours on the nitrous…out the gate and across the adjoining street, (nearly getting creamed by large-mammal tour-bus in the process,) and into an alleyway beyond.

For once fortune favors Judy. When it's her turn to dash across the road, there isn't a vehicle within 50 yards.

She hurries after Conor and into the alley; almost immediately it becomes clear that the young fox just made another tactical blunder. The road surface is strewn with flotsam and debris. Judy can hop over it, but the fox has to dodge around.

And so once more, the gap rapidly closes…until the reason for all the rubbish abruptly presents itself. Up ahead, on the right is a row of brownstones, sheathed in construction scaffolding.

It's also surrounded by a zig-zag chain-link fence…but even from this distance, Judy can see that one of the sections is tilting forward, creating an 'A'-shaped gap in the fence-line. A minute ago, she would have comforted herself with the knowledge that even this kid can't make through a space that narrow.

Not any more, Judy puts it into overdrive…and once again misses Conor by scant inches as he ducks the through the opening in the fence.

Judy slides in after him, scratching her cheek on a protruding wire in the process.

She winces and rolls upright…. and when she looks, she sees Conor hammering up a makeshift ramp and onto a second floor construction scaffold. Also clearly visible are two long rips on the side of his pant leg; he didn't make it through the fence-hole unscathed any more than she did.

But then Judy blinks…and slides to an easy stop folding her arms and smiling honey and vinegar. No need to push this any further, she's got him.

There's no ramp on the other side of the scaffold, not even a ladder. The only way one or off is that same ramp the kid used to get up there in the first place-and she's already got that exit cov…Oh, NO!

Judy gasps and her paw flies up to her chest. The kid isn't stopping, he's continuing to pour it on; he can't see what she's seeing, not from that his angle…and by the time he realizes, it will be a ten foot drop straight a pile of rebar.

She cups her paws and screams, "Conor, look out!"

For once in a lifetime—literally—the young fox listens and hits the brakes.

Too little, too late, he's going over. In a frantic, last ditch effort, Judy sees him make a grab for an overhead pipe.

Perhaps the young silver fox was planning to let his bike go and only save himself; Judy will never know. Carried by the momentum he swings up and over in an impromptu, circular gymnast's arc, coming down on the third floor scaffold in a confused heap with his bicycle piled on top of him

Judy stares for a second; the kid isn't moving. Is he…?

The kid moves; leaping up and grabbing his bike, he races for the makeshift ramp at the other end of the scaffold level and up onto the rooftop beyond

_"When I finally catch up with you,"_  Judy silently tells the young silver-fox, " _I'm not going to know whether to put you in pawcuffs or a straightjacket."_

She springs up onto the scaffold ramp, but instead of following Conor's lead, she uses it as a spring-board, launching herself up onto a second floor windowsill, and then up onto the rooftop.

The rooftop… NOW she's got him.

_"Uh-huh, right."_ She tells herself, and it's a wise admonition. Just ahead, in front of the young fox is a backwards-sloping air vent.

Pulling himself forward over the bars, Conor leaps his bike up onto the vent sailing across the gap and onto the next roof. It's another mistake. Though he clears the distance easily, Judy gains a good five feet on him when she makes the jump herself a moment later.

The young fox sees her, and makes another quick move, pulling left and onto the wall of the roof.

A split second later, he vanishes down the neon-chartreuse maw of a waste chute.

Judy leaps in after him, knowing that the kid just made another error. HE'S got that bike to slow him down, but she's unencumbered by...

Without warning her foot punches through the floor of the chute jerking her to a sudden halt.

"Aggggh, NO!"

Judy yanks her foot free and pushes off again. As the tube straightens out she can see the exit coming up fast, a jiggering circle of cinnamon-brown, growing rapidly. Instinctively the bunny-cop pulls in her legs halfway, creating a pair of makeshift shock absorbers…and drops out the end of the plastic tunnel.

It comes out over an industrial dumpster stacked with—Oh THANK you—cardboard. Judy lands easily and then leaps up and out again, onto the wall of the dumpster.

Conor Lewis is nowhere to be seen.

The bunny-cop looks around anxiously; no sign of him anywhere. Where the heck did the little so-and-so get to so fast?

Then Judy hears something, the unmistakable sound of a diesel engine revving.

She turns towards it. At the end of the alleyway, a bus is pulling away from the curb…with Conor seated at one of the windows, waggling his fingers at her.

Judy could just scream.

_"Arrrrrgh, I…HATE…foxes! When I see Nick again, I'm not speaking to him for a_ week!"

Even though it's hopeless, she takes off after the bus.

Judy exits the alley just as it starts to gather speed. Too fast, too far; she'll never catch up to it. She grabs at her belt for…anything she can hurl to the ground in a fit of rage.

But then, ten yards up ahead of the bus, an old vixen raises a paw to flag it down.

And the bus begins to slow and angle towards the curb once more.

Judy could almost scream again…this time with delight.

_"Ohhh, I just LOVE foxes. If Nick were here, I'd give him a_ ginormous _hug."_

When the door shushes open, Conor bolts out past Nick's mother and around the front of the bus.

When it pulls away a few seconds later, Judy sees the young fox is once more on his bike, riding for dear life in the direction of another alleyway.

He drifts into a fast speedway turn (making it this time) and into the alley with Judy coming up fast behind him.

But it soon becomes clear that the fox has lucked out…again! Unlike the first alley, this one isn't strewn with refuse; it as clean as Mane Street, ZTP. Here he can keep on trucking at full speed

Even worse for Judy, while the first alley was laid out in a straightaway grid, this one is practically a labyrinth, one crazy turn after another

Worst of all there's a haze hanging in the air, and with every passing yard takes it gets progressively thicker. Before long Judy's visibility drops to only a few yards and the sun is only a ball of orange-juice. Within moments, Conor's image is nothing more than an indistinct outline, sheathed in gray.

Judy coughs, sniffs, coughs again; her lungs feel coated with sandpaper. she doesn't need Nick's sense of smell to know that the haze is actually smoke…a LOT of it. Somewhere nearby, there's a building on fire.

And now the smoke commences to perform yet another disservice to the bunny cop…muffling the hiss of Conor's bicycle wheels.

She follows him around a turn…and nearly runs smack into a wall as the alley comes to an abrupt t-ends. She looks both ways; nothing visible in either direction beyond an arm's length

She lost him.

In futile frustration Judy calls out into the smoke, "You're only making it worse for yourself, kid."

She immediately wants to kick  _her_ self.

_"Oh yeah, real wise move there DUMB bunny. As if he'd_ ever _give himself away that…"_

"Not possible, lady-cop!" A bitter young voice calls back at her, followed by a cough.

Judy bolts down the right side of the alley, in the direction of Conor's retort. No sign of him, but she keeps going…running on entirely instinct and, she hopes, a little of her own luck. He has to be close by to have been heard that easily—and all this the smoke can't be doing  _his_  lungs any favors either. A 'Y' in the alley looms before her; she goes right, no time to think…somewhere over the rooftops she can hear the hiss of high-pressure hoses and the crackle of a PA. Yep, there's a fire around here somewhere…dangit! All that background noise is the last thing she needs right now.

Judy comes to a four-way intersection, heads though straight ignoring the turns. Darn it, where IS that kid?

A breeze begins to waft its way, down through the alley…just a puff, but it quickly rises and the smoke begins to thin out.

Judy presses onward as the smoke continues to clear…enough so that she can see the alley opening up into a courtyard up ahead. She hears a noise off to her right…the click of toenails? It's coming from that other alley over there.

The bunny-cop turns and runs for it-and feels water splashing over her ankles. Wha…? Where the heck did  _that_ come fr…?

She jerks to a halt, nose-to-nose with a red-brick wall; this isn't another alley, it's only a cul-de-sac—and the clicking is coming from somewhere on the other side of the masonry; there is no door in the wall that she can see.

When she exits the blind alley, the smoke is still thinning. She can see the running water now, dirty-brown and patched with soot—runoff from the nearby blaze.

_"That fire must really be close… "_  Judy starts to think, before the thought freezes up in her head.

Up ahead and to the left, a smallish figure is barely visible through the haze, a figure with a pair of sharp, black triangles extruding from its scalp…. _fox ears!_

Judy slows, drops into a half crouch, padding forward on the balls of her feet.

The young fox doesn't move…seemingly unaware of her presence.

It's the smoke, Judy realizes. It's not only muffling her footfalls, it's also masking her scent.

She creeps forward, paws raised. Three feet…two feet…just one more, annnd NOW!"

Judy springs forward with all her might.

Conor doesn't even try to resist.

…because it isn't Conor. Judy has just subdued a downsized, art-deco version of the Statue of Liberty. (What she thought were fox-ears were actually the points of Lady Liberty's crown.)

She jumps to her feet, ready to kick a hole in the display-figure.

Then she sighs.

_"Oh well, at least the kid can't see this."_

Her ear shoots up as another sound echoes off to her right, the metallic crunch of a can being flattened.

…as if someone just ran over it with a bicycle; even HEAVY smoke couldn't muffle that kind of noise.

Judy calculates rapidly. There's still enough of it left in the air to offer a little concealment… and directly in front of her is the entrance to the cul-de-sac, and catty corner to that, off to the left is the alleyway where she entered the courtyard.

She grabs the standee and bounds over in that direction, planting it squarely in the center of the alleyway. The figure is looking a bit raggedy after being tackled by her, but it only has to fool the kid for a second, and with a little luck he won't see it until he's right on top of…wait, here he comes.

Moving quickly but quietly, the bunny-cop hops over and drops down behind a tall stack of pallets…and waits.

She doesn't have to wait for very long. Only scant seconds later, Conor comes wheeling into the courtyard on his park-bike.

The young fox looks like Hell recycled. His dark fur is peppered with ash, his eyes are all puffed and bloated, and his breathing is both shallow and squeaky.

_"He must have ridden right through the worst of the smoke_." Judy thinks as she watches him. The boy looks so completely pitiful, she almost feels sorry for him/

_Almost…!_

When he stops for a moment to catch his breath Judy is sorely tempted to make her move right  _now_ before he can replenishes his air supply

She doesn't; the young fox still isn't close enough. She holds her position, couching low—and waiting.

Finally, after three more ragged gulps of air, Conor jams down on a pedal and prepares to move on.

_"Not yet,"_  Judy tells herself, as he closes in on the alley where she came in,  _"Not…eeeeeyetttttt. Wait for it…wait until he sees Miss Libby…Come on kid….come onnnnnn."_

Conor pulls up startled, just shy of the exit.

NOW! Judy leaps up on top of the pallet stack

"You there!"

Caught completely by surprise, the young fox yips, wheels his bike around and bolts…

…straight into the blind-alley cul-de-sac.

He immediately tries to reverse course/…but Judy is already there, ankle deep in runoff water and blocking his escape.

"It's over kid," she tells him quietly, waving upturned fingers at the fox, "Come on and give it up."

Conor looks at her for a second, and then she sees his shoulders slump.

That's when Judy finally knows for sure…

"All right Conor, lose the backpack," she tells him, "One side at a time, thumb and forefinger only."

He nods and reaches gingerly for the first buckle.

Meanwhile in the street out beyond the courtyard, a pronghorn antelope in a firefighter's coat is barking instruction through a bullhorn.

"All units…pull back, we're losing the roof. All units pull back!"

Before anyone can respond, the roof of Tux-On Tuxedo shop collapses like a falling wedding cake…and triggers a cascade.

As the roof drops inward, the rear wall of the store also gives way, toppling over and taking an electrical junction-box with it, the attached wires pulling taut against a power pole directly behind Judy.

In a burst of phosphorescence the pole's transformer is torn away, filling the air with a hot metallic odor as all of cables snap free.

With curls of smoke trailing behind them, the right-side cables drift silently downward…directly towards the bunny-cop standing ankle deep in runoff water.

Judy turns at the sound of the cables popping sees them coming; for a second she hesitates, uncomprehending. What the heck ARE those…?

Then she realizes; high voltage! And she can't get away; she's going to…

Judy throws her arms around her head, hoping it will be over quick.

Something flies out of nowhere, slamming into her waist and propelling her up and backwards. Time seems to slow to again as she watches the cables lightly brushing the water, like the fingertips of a lover caressing a cheek.

What happens next is anything but tender; a blinding-white arc and an explosion of white-hot steam; a sound like the world's largest paper bag popping.

And then the lights in all the surrounding windows flash brightly and then go out.

For a long second all is stillness and confusion…and then Judy becomes aware of Conor, standing over her and offering a paw.

She takes it but when the young fox tries to help her up, he end up toppling over backwards onto his tail—and so it's Judy who ends up helping  _him_  to his feet.

"Are you all right?" he asks her.

"Y-Yes…I'm all right." She answers, her left foot commencing to beat out a nervous tattoo.

A familiar voice in Judy's head reminds her,  _"Never let them see that they get to you."_  And she immediately ceases her thumping.

"Thank you." She says, somehow forcing her voice to remain steady.

"Welcome," the young fox answers, as casually as if the bunny-cop just thanked him for returning a quarter she'd dropped…and then his eyebrow raises and his mouth dries to a crooked line.

"I uh, don't suppose this mean you'd consider letting me go."

Judy fights down the rising brick in her throat and shakes her head.

"You know I can't do that, kid."

The silver fox only shrugs philosophically and then angles his muzzle over a shoulder

"Ahhhh what the plank, I'd have to leave all my stuff behind, right?"

Judy follows his gaze, and sees the young fox's bike and backpack, marooned on the other side of the running water. And just then, as if to make certain she understands the situation, there's another sputter and hiss from the cables still laying in the runoff.

"'Kay, I won't give you any more trouble." He says, sounding almost apologetic.

And then he turns around, and brings his wrists together.

Judy swallows again.

"Conor Lewis….you're under arrest, for accessory to loansharking and resisting arrest."

He says nothing to this, only stands there waiting.

It's a long wait. When Judy tries to cuff him, she finds that her paws are shaking—so badly, she can barely get the bracelets wrapped around the silver fox's wrists.

…wrists attached to paws as steady as monoliths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prolouge to this story may be fond by entering 'Zootopia' 'Fire' and 'Triangle' in the search window.
> 
> On the Easter Egg front, keep an eye out for a reference to The French Connection.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Zootopia 2, The Fire Triangle
> 
> This story will be published in three separate parts, plus a prologue, which may be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11620323/chapters/26127297
> 
> Thanks in advance to everyone who takes time to look at this story; I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it.
> 
> And please be sure to keep a sharp eye out for Easter Eggs
> 
> John Urie aka Merc marten


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